Through To The End
by A Whisper Of Grace
Summary: Emma is journeying to bargain with King George of her family's neighbouring kingdom, when news comes that complicates her plans. The arrival of Killian Jones, childhood friend turned pirate and mercenary, gives her a solution - if she can convince him to take it. Enchanted Forest AU
1. Chapter 1

Swallowing back her rising panic, Emma dismissed the messenger with the calmest voice that she could summon, which was still far more biting than he deserved. It was hardly his fault that the news he had brought not only put a foil in their plans, but bore a personal problem for her as well. In fact, they were lucky by far to have this news from a man of her own, rather than the official word from the emissary who was, they had just learned, due to ride out to meet them tomorrow. She was more grateful than she'd ever been for her mother's spies at other courts. At least she had time to...

To what? To figure out a way out of it? To just come to terms with the idea?

"I'd heard rumours that King George was looking for a wife," Graham said, breaking the silence. "Your parents believed that his search was in the north, not so close to home."

The two of them sat alone in her tent. The space was modest by royal standards, but she'd refused the usual fanfare, unwilling to add time and effort to an already taxing mission. She'd have laid her blanket on the earth by the fire like the rest of her men if she'd been able, but even she recognised that she had to make a good impression when she approached George, the king of the country that bordered the one her mother ruled over. Graham had been in her mother's service since long before her birth, and now he was just as much friend as he was capable bodyguard.

Their mission had been one of negotiation. Their relationship with George and his country to the east was a peaceful one, if sometimes strained, but she couldn't say the same of the lands to the west. The usual small raids on farms that skirted the western border had grown into more antagonistic ones on settlements and small towns, and so far King Arthur had ignored their requests for investigation. Worse of all, men in the colours of his own guard had been seen in such attacks. Unable to sit idle, Snow White was gathering her forces - but the years since the banishment of her stepmother had been peaceful, and they had been slow to realise that their forces were pitifully small.

Not so King George's army; he had more than enough men, they knew, but little with which to pay them. And thus had been their task. The use of men to stand against Arthur, to go to war if need be, in exchange for the gold George desperately needed to keep his kingdom from poverty.

It had been a simple enough undertaking, but the news her mother's spy had sent her made this impossibly harder. George had heard of their approach and their reason for it, and he was planning on countering her offer. He would give her his men readily enough, and he would take her promise of gold, a sample of which they carried in a chest hidden amongst her personal things on her carriage, but he also wanted something more from her, something she wasn't prepared to give.

"I won't marry him," she said, standing up and pacing as much as she could in the small space. She was aware that she sounded more petulant child than princess and royal representative, but she didn't have it in her to restrain her tone. "It's absurd."

Graham didn't speak straight away, and she could see the wheels turning in his head. "He mightn't see it so," he said carefully. "It's a good opportunity for both himself and for Snow. An alliance by marriage would be far stronger than the one they have now. You're past old enough to be partnered in such a match. He probably thinks he's doing you a favour."

She bit back her sharp retort that he was being ridiculous. In fact, he was saying only what she was too stubborn to put voice to herself - that this match made sense. Politically. In reality, she couldn't think of anything worse. "I don't need to remind you of what we know of him," she said quietly, stopping her pacing to look at him directly. "That he's callous, malicious, dangerous. I won't argue that I don't want to leave my home for his, or that he's old enough to be my grandfather. He is not a good man, Graham, and I will not marry him."

He didn't disagree with her, or tell her she was being childish or stubborn. "I'm not sure there's a simple way out of this. We still need his men. Snow wouldn't have sent us to beg for aid unless she deemed it necessary. If he doesn't think that gold for men is an even trade, then I think we have little else to offer him to tip the balance in our favour again. No doubt he has his eye on the whole of his country and yours together, for his children if not for himself."

Emma grimaced at the idea of bearing that man's children. "It's only going to make things harder for my parents. I'm not sure that there's a way out of this without offending him, Graham."

"And he's a proud man. If you decline his offer without good reason then he might not deal with you at all." Grimacing, Graham closed his eyes and rubbed at them roughly. Whatever formality they showed in public as befitting their stations as princess and guard was discarded in private. "Is nothing about this trip going to be simple?"

Of course, George wasn't the day's only problem. There was the man held under guard in the other, smaller tent, tied up and blindfolded until they decided what to do with him. An idea sprang to mind, a ridiculous, terrible idea. She held her breath as it formed, waiting for the fault in it to make itself known, for surely such a plan was too ludicrous to work. George would still likely be angry, but she'd have an explanation for her rejection of his offer. She just wouldn't consider what it meant for herself, not yet anyway.

Perhaps it was her silence, or the look on her face, but Graham's eyes were sharp as he came to stand before her. "What is it?"

Letting her breath out slowly, she forced a smile. "There may be a way out of this, after all."

* * *

Emma approached the tent on the other side of the small clearing with purpose, knowing that her part had to played well from now on or their plan would fall flat. Graham had argued against it, going so far as to say that her parents would never approve of such a thing, but had quietened before she'd had to embarrass them both by pulling rank on him. When she reached the tent she bid him wait for her outside, ignoring the tightening of his features and doing her best to make her own expression one of suppressed eagerness. Slipping inside the tent, she closed and fastened the flap quickly.

Straightening, she made herself turn around, surprised by the sudden reluctance she felt. She'd seen him when her sentries had brought him in, arms tied firmly behind his back and his hair and clothes dishevelled, not to speak of the blackening of the skin around his left eye. When their eyes met across the clearing it felt like time had stopped just for them. His lips had parted, his brow softening, his eyes clearing from a challenge to something she wasn't sure she could put a name to. For that long moment, he was the boy who she had known in her childhood, her companion, her best friend. Then the guards had hustled him out of sight, leaving her mind cloudy and her breath short.

Her prisoner sat in the middle of the small space, and her heart felt like it would beat out of her chest as she took him in. Killian Jones had changed much in the ten years since she'd last laid eyes on him. Gone were the fine clothes of a lord's son and, later, the smart uniform of a lieutenant in the King's Navy. Now he was all black and leather, the clothes fitted well enough to show off a well muscled figure. The biggest change wasn't the clothes, however, nor the growth on his cheeks that far surpassed what he'd been able to managed at seventeen. When he'd first been brought in his arms had been tied behind his back - that had been changed, perhaps for comfort, so that a length of rope tied his wrists tightly together before him. In the place of his left hand was a heavy looking brace. They'd removed his hook, of course. Killian - Captain Hook - had a reputation now, after all.

Looking at him now, Emma felt the long-suppressed memories of his last days at court come flooding back. His father had been a favoured lord, a close friend of her own father. When his elder brother, a captain in their navy, had died in battle, David had ceded the loss and retreated. Killian had been furious, at his brother's loss of life and at David's assurances that retribution would be had - but only when it was the right time. Killian had wanted action then and there, and when his own father had advised patience he'd fled the city in a stolen ship to seek his own vengeance. No one had seen him since. There'd been rumours, certainly, but not everyone had made the connection between the mild-mannered young lieutenant and the fierce, infamous Captain Hook.

It had taken a long time for her to accept that he wasn't coming home. She figured that he would have his vengeance and return to court, and then things could go back to how they'd been before. A month had passed, then a year, then two then three then four, and eventually she had put him out of her mind and closed her heart. It had hurt too much to do otherwise. One day, the ship that he'd taken had appeared again in their harbour, and her father had told her that one of their other vessels had come across pirates while on a mission at sea. They had managed to reclaim the _Jewel of the Realm,_ although now she was just as well known as the _Jolly Roger._ Several men had been injured, but most of the pirate crew had managed to escape uninjured. Emma had thanked him politely for the explanation, but told him she had no interest in ships or pirates.

Killian must have known that someone was standing before him, but he gave no indication of the fact. Finding no words of her own (or rather, too many to choose from), she swallowed down her nerves and walked over to stand behind him, untying his blindfold and tucking the length of cloth into her belt. He remained silent until she returned to stand in front of him, forcing her expression to one of neutrality.

He did a far better job of that than she did. He almost looked bored. Whatever emotion had been in his eyes when he'd looked at her across the clearing was certainly gone now. Finally, his lips twisted into a grimace that looked somewhat self-deprecating. "Your Highness," he said, bowing as well as he was able.

Did he truly feel as indifferent to her as his tone implied, or was it just an act to push her away? She'd been able to tell the difference, once. "I didn't think the mighty Captain Hook could be caught," she said, keeping her back straight and her voice even. If he didn't feel overwhelmed at seeing her again, she could at least pretend that it was the same for her.

His grimace shifted into a smirk, and for a moment he looked almost like the boy she remembered. Almost. The Killian she'd known had never had such a hardness in his eyes. "Oh, on the contrary," he said, sounding more than pleased with himself. "Keeping me is a different matter. Don't think that taking my attachments from me is going to detain me any longer, either," he added, lifting his joined arms to show off his brace. "I am a _pirate_ , after all. But I forget - you're not likely to see much of my kind in your pretty little castle, _Your Highness._ "

He was teasing her, and it made her feel sick. Sick and angry. Clenching her teeth together, she counted to ten, taking a deep breath as subtly as she could before she did something stupid like argue with him like they had when they were children. Or slap him - she wanted to do that, too. "You've forgotten much, if you think I'm ignorant of the world," she said steadily, clasping her hands together behind her back.

He said nothing, simply raised his eyebrow at her mockingly. This was all wrong, his words and tone and actions filling her with a confusion she hadn't expected. It had been so long since she'd thought of him, but now that she stood before him she was confronted again with all of the lonely years since he'd left. Perhaps she hadn't forgiven him just yet.

If he was hiding behind his new persona, this arrogance and exuberance that felt rather different from what she remembered, then she would stick to the role he quite clearly wasn't willing to see past. Perhaps he really did care as little as he appeared. That was fine - she didn't need him to care. Just to listen to her offer.

"As adept as you say you are at escaping capture, you'll find that there's no need. My party and I have a matter to bring before King George, and we'll not delay ourselves by bearing a prisoner along with us. I need to know why you were watching our camp, and then I have a matter to put to you. If your answers prove satisfactory then I'll let you go."

There was a sudden glint in his eye and he leaned forward slightly. "Trust me, darling, I'll be sure to satisfy you in any way you require."

Her arm moved before she could stop herself, darting out to slap him sharply with the palm of her hand. His head turned with the blow but he didn't flinch, despite that the bruise around his eye must have left him already feeling sore. She'd surprised herself with the act that was quite out of character for her, but she didn't dwell on things like guilt right now - she was still too angry and frustrated. "Will you just shut up so I can tell you I need your help," she said, the words spilling out of her before she could bite her tongue against them. She was starting to feel distressed. She'd thought it would be better if he bore no resemblance to the young man she'd known, but watching this stranger in his skin almost felt like more than she could bear. She wasn't sure at all that she'd get much cooperation out of him, but formality was getting her nowhere so she must try something else.

Taking a step back to put some space between them, she set the situation out for him: the disputes on the border Misthaven shared with Camelot, the lack of a well trained army. She thought that last part might have angered him, to know that David had let things slip after the battle his brother was involved in, but he didn't react. Perhaps he knew already. He hadn't looked at her since she'd struck him, but she kept on talking, spelling out King George's financial troubles and their hope to negotiate with him.

"You weren't our only arrival since we set up camp," Emma told him, still watching his face carefully for a reaction. Although he hadn't spoken, she was starting to feel more like herself again, more in control, if only because she had a plan to focus on. "We received word from a source at George's court that he's learned of the offer we plan to present to him, and is sending a delegation to meet us tomorrow with a counter offer. He plans to accept, on the added assurance that I will become his wife."

Killian jerked as though he'd only just been struck, sucking in his breath with a sound like a hiss. "You can't marry him," he said, startling her with the intensity of his words. His eyes, finally on her again, were wide and adamant, his back very straight. "You don't know the kinds of things he's done. King or not, he'll not put his hands on you."

She didn't ask why he thought it was his right to have an opinion on the matter, or what he'd do about it if she saw fit to accept George's offer. "I need his men," she said instead. "I can't offend him just by turning down his offer with no reason - politically it's a great match, and he knows it as well as I do. There's no reason to decline other than that I simply can't stand him. We can't have war on one border and unrest or worse on the other because I do this indelicately. As it is, my few options are heavy handed enough. But they might still work."

He'd regained his control while she'd spoken, for the most part anyway. The strange blaze of fury in his eyes had been restrained, leaving only a scowl to show how he felt. She couldn't guess what the cause was for the intensity of his reaction, and she wasn't going to ask. It certainly couldn't be that he was concerned for her welfare, despite his sharp protest. That would imply that he actually cared an inch about her, and he'd more than proved that wasn't the case. Perhaps he had his own reasons for hating King George. When he spoke, his voice was calm. "I can see that you have a plan. Spell it out, then."

This was the part of it that made her stomach twist into knots. The words were hard to find. Finding that she was unable to look at him, she dropped her eyes to the ground. "We were friends, once. Before what happened with your brother. I was... sad, when you left, and that was noted by more than a few at court. It wouldn't be hard to convince them that there was more to it than friendship."

She saw him shifting on the edge of her vision. "I -"

For the first time, there was a gentle familiarity in his voice. That was the one thing she wanted least of all. "Please let me finish," she said quietly, and he fell silent. "A story of lovers separated and then reunited would be believable. A chance reunion in the woods; a reconciliation. You've enjoyed your years of rebellion but couldn't keep away from court any longer, couldn't keep away from... me. I forgive you your absence and your actions, as long as you'll stay by me. We've wasted enough time. We could be married before nightfall, and when George's emissary arrives in the morning it will be with a heavy heart that I must deny his request, for a woman can only be married to one man. It's a pretty lie, is it not?" Damn it, but what was that wobble in her voice at the end? She lifted her chin to look down at Killian, determined not to look weak in front of him.

All traces of anger and mockery had faded from his face, leaving something far too complex in his eyes for her to put a name to. She met his stare evenly despite the tightness in her chest. His arms lifted slightly, then fell back down to his lap. "Emma," he said.

It might have been the ten years of tenderness in his voice, or simply that it was the first time he'd called her by name, but it was too much. "It's a believable story," she snapped. "Surely believable enough. I know that being stuck in the castle isn't what you want, that you find it stuffy and boring. I know I must be stuffy and boring after all the adventuring you've been doing since you left. But it's the only thing I can think of aside from marrying George or putting my family and home in danger. It needn't be forever - a year, two at most, long enough to make it look real. And you can have your ship back," she added, knowing it might not be enough of a bargaining tool, not wanting to think of how much he'd have to hate her to turn her down once she offered him his prize back. "I'll have Father make a gift of it. A... wedding gift." She forced herself to say it. And she wouldn't think of her father's reaction, nor her mother's, when she returned home not only with a husband, but a pirate.

The silence stretched out between them for so long that Emma's nerves felt stretched enough to split in two. She was about to fall to her knees before him and beg her case again when he spoke. "All right. I'll play the part for you. For a time."

She couldn't read his face at all now. But it didn't matter. Her shoulders drooped as the tension went out of them. "You'll not just have to play the part," she told him briskly as she strode over to him, biding him to stand. She started to pull at the ropes around his wrists to loosen them. "You'll have to play it convincingly. To everyone, not just George."

"I can be convincing," he said quietly, and her eyes darted up quickly to see that his face was a look closer to hers than she'd thought. She felt his breath on her lips when he spoke. "Can you?"

They stared at each other until Emma became aware of the hammering in her chest. She was clutching tightly to his wrists, and she made herself loosen her grip to finish untying the rope. Suddenly it was very hard to look at him. "It'll be fine. Just stay here until I come back. I have things to organise."

Her heartbeat was still pounding in her ears when she left the tent, and the cool breeze of the late afternoon was refreshing on her face. Damn him, for making her feel so jittery.

She was so deep in her thoughts that it took her a moment to notice Graham's presence, his tall form standing directly by her shoulder. "A word, please, Your Highness?" he said stiffly, and she was sure that if not for protocol and the guards standing on either side of the tent flaps, that he would have grabbed her by the arm and dragged her away himself.

As it was, she followed him away from the tent and out of earshot. "He's agreed to my offer," she said, lifting her chin and meeting his eye in a semblance of calm. When she went through the motions of calm and control it was usually enough to make it real, but today she couldn't quite get her mind under control. It felt too simple, too fast. _He's agreed to my offer_ fell something short of _he's agreed to be my husband._ No matter than it was a means to an end - in a very short time she'd be married. "We'll need to do it soon. At dusk would be best. And before the camp. You should let it slip in front of Happy - then the whole lot of them will know before dinner."

She saw the clenching and unclenching of his fist. "This isn't a good idea, Emma," he said quietly, his eyes darting between hers and the people closest to them, making sure they weren't close enough to overhear. "He's no good - a pirate, a scoundrel. And it's personal. Don't pretend it's not. He's already broken your heart once." The concern was plain on his face.

She was touched by it, but she'd made up her mind. "I'm not a fifteen year old girl anymore, Graham," she told him. "Besides, it was never like that between the two of us. We were friends, only. I know he's not ideal, but he has a good enough bloodline to be a contender. Not that my parents married for anything but love," she reminded him.

"You're going to have to be good if you plan to convince your mother that you're in love with him," Graham said dryly. "I doubt even you can keep him tame for long enough for it to work."

Emma smiled at him faintly. "Once, he was a good man. Once, a nobleman, a promising star in the King's Navy. Once, he was a good man." She only hoped he could at least pretend to be one again.

* * *

As dusk turned the sky pink and purple and grey, Emma stood at the edge of the camp under a large oak tree, dressed in her finest travelling gown with her hair braided around her head like a crown. Her back was straight and her smile broad, if a little forced. Across from her stood Killian Jones, his own expression solemn, but at least he did a fine job of making sure his eyes never left her face. As the most senior knight present, Graham spoke the words that tied their lives together, at least for the foreseeable future, placing her hand in Killian's and pronouncing them husband and wife. And if any of the members of their party thought it all a strange turn of events they were dismissed when they saw the way their princess's new husband put his arms around her and held her tightly, as she stood on tiptoe as she leaned up to him as they shared their kiss of celebration.


	2. Chapter 2

Considering the size of their group, they made little sound as they travelled through George's land to Emma's own. The men and women of her group, guard and servant alike, were well accustomed to moving quickly and quietly across terrain like this, familiar or otherwise.

Wanting to escape the confinement of her carriage for a time, Emma had commandeered one of her men's horses and was now riding in an illusion of solitude, with the head of her party just in her sights before her and the rest of it following not too far behind. She was aware of the guards who stayed just out of sight on either side of her, moving through the forest as though they were a part of it. Despite her earlier brusque request for time alone, she knew that in truth there was no such thing, not while they were out in the forest, not while they were still on George's lands.

It was an effort to keep her back straight and her shoulders up, an effort to keep herself from giving into the frustration and fury that had been itching to burst free from her since before they'd left the apparent safety of George's castle. No, that was a lie - the feeling had been there since she'd laid eyes on the man who'd dared to try and coerce her into becoming his wife.

The morning after her wedding to Killian Jones, the son of one of her father's most trusted lords, she'd woken to her new husband shaking her awake, advising her on the new arrival of King George's emissary, waiting upon her convenience. Killian was dressed in his smallclothes, the barest concession that she'd been able to get from him considering she was adamant that sharing her bed was not a part of their arrangement. He had spent a good amount of time trying to convince her that in order to play their part convincingly, they had to give in to all of the _requirements_ completely. She was mostly sure that he was joking, and that was the part that she'd clung to with determination, agreeing to share her bed with him for appearances sake, but only with a bundle of pillows shoved between them.

Thankfully, Killian was an early riser and had been awake when Graham had approached her tent in the early hours of the morning. Killian had woken her quickly, turned his back while she dressed, and had gone to admit Graham with not a single complaint. The news that George's formal invitation to court and request for her hand had arrived was new to none of them, but Emma at least had the means to politely decline him now, sending one of his men back with the news and keeping one of them on to act as a guide for the short remainder of their journey.

That had been the easy part.

Standing before George later that day, Emma had held her head high, confident in herself, in her name and her position, determined to get what she needed out of her neighbour despite her sudden inability to give him the one thing he'd claimed to want above all else. And want it he had - his deliberate lingering gaze had been obvious, and not just to herself, if Killian's reaction was to be believed. Her new husband had stood by her side as befitting his new standing as Prince of Misthaven, and Emma wasn't oblivious to the way he tensed after George's obvious appraisal of her.

He'd cut an impressive figure at least, by her side in his black leathers. Despite the finer shirt and vest someone had thought to fit him with before their audience with the king, there was no mistaking his wild nature, the kohl around his blue eyes only making them appear sharper, the hook strapped to his wrist hardly the most dangerous thing about him.

It hadn't made a difference. George had appeared to take her apologies and excuses - her exaggerated story of two lovers reunited - with good grace, with even enjoyment and well wishes over their union, but when it had come to the reason for her visit he'd been unmoving. Killian had stayed by her side, purely in a show of support since she'd told him in no uncertain terms that she didn't want or need his help in the negotiating. Even though it had been painfully obvious to her when he'd been itching to step in, when he'd been infuriated on her behalf, he had stuck by his word and deferred to her in all matters - a fact that she was using to fuel her anger now.

If he'd stepped in, perhaps things might be different. It didn't matter that it was at her own orders that he'd left the bargaining in her hands - or that if he'd stepped in, she'd have been furious at him. In truth, she was just damned pissed that things hadn't gone her way, and at a complete loss over how things were supposed to move forward from here.

King George had declined her offer, in all of its forms. If there had been the chance of a royal wedding on the cards then it might have been different, but with nothing of the kind to offer him, George simply wasn't willing to commit his people to a war that wasn't his to begin with. There was also unrest on his southern border to consider, or so he claimed. Emma had called him out on the fact, knowing that his truce with his southern neighbours was just as strong as their own was, but he'd disregarded her protests completely.

When it came down to it, George simply wasn't willing to cooperate. Not without a royal bride, and since she'd just gone and married someone else before the invitation had come, there was no moving forward on this front.

Emma loved her country, loved her people and her lands, and there was nothing she wouldn't do to protect them. Or so she thought, until she'd come face to face with the man who'd be her "saviour". She wouldn't align herself with George, no matter the cost. She knew it was risky, all of it, from her marriage to Killian to the fact that she was coming back empty handed, but she knew she'd find another way... there had to be another way.

She hadn't needed to tell them to give her space - her quiet fury at George's simple dismissal had been enough to tip them off to that. Even Killian, as obnoxious as he was proving to be, had stopped his questioning after a few minutes and had done what he could to organise their party back on to the road as quickly as possible. It was almost unnerving to see him and Graham working so cohesively together, but that was another thing she didn't dwell on. She was still simmering from the insult of it all hours later, and although she was sure that it would bubble over if she didn't give vent to it sooner rather than later, she wasn't ready yet to give voice to just how much this had upset her.

The deal had been fair, and well thought out, in exactly the terms that she'd organised with her parents just before her departure. The fact that not only had George not agreed to those terms, but had demanded something as highly valued as her own hand in marriage in addition to the ridiculous amount of gold that they'd offered him, was so much more of an insult than she was willing to accept.

Spitefully, she was glad that she'd thrown the opportunity for a husband of high note away on a disgraced lord's son, an apparently newly reformed pirate with little money or standing of his own to his name. Although things like that hadn't mattered much to Emma - now or ten years prior - she knew that the insult George was facing for her reasons for declining his proposal was almost as damaging to his pride as the one he'd offered her.

 _Serves the bastard right._

As clear as she'd been about wanting to spend some time in solitude to come to terms with her frustrations, she wasn't surprised when an hour or so into their journey she heard the subtle sounds of a horse quietly approaching. She'd expected Graham, but it was Killian who was bringing his horse up to ride abreast with hers. He kept his eyes ahead, the reins looped around his hook a few times but otherwise unsecured. In his right hand was an unstoppered flask, which he held out to her, barely glancing away from the narrow road ahead of them. "Thirsty?"

Raising her eyebrows at him, she watched him for a few long seconds before reaching across to take the flask. She took a deep mouthful before handing it back, silently appreciative of the warmth that flooded through her.

She should have known that his generosity came with a price. Killian restoppered the flask and tucked it into his vest, glancing across at sideways. "You can hardly blame the man, you know, love."

It was typical of him to be able to flare her irritation back to life with a few choice words. They'd been close friends, it was true, but he'd also been the only person who'd managed who could rub her the wrong way so easily. "Of course. Your first opinion as my husband it to side with my enemy, of course it is."

Killian's shoulders stiffened defiantly. "Hardly. In truth, my _dearest_ wife, I was merely sympathising with the man. You can hardly blame one for lamenting the loss of such a magnificent woman as his bride."

Despite her frustration, both at the man riding beside her and the man she was trying to distance herself from, Emma snorted at Killian's suggestion. "I made it clear that I didn't want to be disturbed," she said instead, lifting her chin and adopting a tone of formality. It was her strongest defence when it came to him. "If you didn't recognise that, Graham should have, and should have stopped you from approaching me. Apparently, you deem yourself above such a request."

If her words had the bite that she'd intended to put into them, then it certainly didn't show in Killian's reaction. He was infuriating, that was for sure. "My apologies, Your Highness," he said, dipping his head with a grace that only made her more annoyed at him. "To begin with, I thought that it wouldn't hurt our charade as reunited _lovers_ for me to disregard your bodyguard's request to leave you alone, and for you to accept me welcomingly. If my assumption was incorrect, I'll happily leave you in peace."

His equally formal tone was almost as annoying as the knowledge that he surely didn't mean his offer to leave her alone anyway. And that was only almost as bad as admitting he was right. Biting back a sigh, she smiled up at him, or tried to, anyway. She was sure that it came across more like a grimace. "You said, 'to begin with'," she acknowledged with false cheeriness. "What else did you want?"

Chuckling at her response - damn him - he took a minute before offering his own. "I have an offer for you, Your Highness. If you'll listen."

 _If you'll listen._ Pursing her lips, Emma kept her eyes on the road before her, trying to still the unease stirring inside of her. She was frustrated and upset about failing on her mission to request aid from George, but even that wasn't enough to distract her from the disquiet that she felt whenever her mind took to Lord Killian Jones. Captain Killian Jones - Captain Hook. So much had changed since their childhood friendship, but the idea of so much distance between them made her feel sick, whether she'd put it there or not. The problem was, she wasn't quite sure how to fix things between them, and for some reason, the fact that he was now her husband only made things worse. "I'll listen, Jones, but only if you promise get to the point sometime today."

She softened the words with the barest hint of a smile, the slightest upturning of her lips as she glanced sideways at him, but it seemed enough for now. Relaxing his shoulders, he looked around them deliberately. "It's been a rather uneventful return trip so far, don't you agree?"

Immediately cautious (and curious), Emma followed his gaze but found nothing out of the ordinary. The empty forest stared back at her, interrupted every now and then by a member of her guard, kept at a close but discreet distance. "Unsurprising. We're still on King George's land - any attack upon us now could be suspicious, especially considering the circumstances with which we're leaving."

Killian nodded slowly. "Aye, perhaps. There's also the escort which is providing us safe passage across the border."

Emma eyed him warily. "You mean my guard? My escort?"

"No, my dear. I mean my men, who are guarding _your_ escort."

Her eyes on Killian, wide with alarm, Emma almost jumped out of her saddle when she realised someone had approached her on her other side. Graham looked at her oddly when he joined her, but didn't comment on it. "Your Highness," he greeted her quietly, turning his curious look from her to Killian and then back again. "We might be in for some trouble," he warned her. "The guards have reported an unknown amount of men and women on either side of us. They're subtle; they haven't let themselves be seen for more than a moment here or there, but they don't appear to be wearing George's colours. No one's approached so far, but I've told the others to ready themselves just in case -"

Graham's words stopped short at the sound of Killian clearing his throat on the other side of her. "You've nothing to worry about, Captain," he said cheerfully, pulling out what she was sure was his most winning smile.

After a few seconds of tense seconds, Graham turned his gaze back to her, stony-faced. "Your Highness, I -"

"It's all right, Graham," she said slowly. She had nothing more than Killian's word that things were taken care of, but for some reason, she found that she trusted him on his word. She could practically feel Graham's disapproval from her other side, but she managed to wait him out, nodding her assurance at him and waiting before he retreated before she turned back to Killian. "I thought pirates only had men to command on their ships," she said, under no illusions as to where his sudden supply of guards had come from.

Killian huffed under his breath. "That shows more about your limited knowledge of pirates, milady, than it does about the nature of my men. They're loyal to me, you can bet your life on it. I have, many times, and I'm still alive to this day."

"More's the pity," she threw at him before she could stop herself, but all she got from him in response was a familiar grin, one that changed his face entirely. _This_ was the boy she remembered.

"There's not a one of them that won't lay down their life to protect me or mine. And I'm sorry to disappoint you, my love, but that now includes you, and you'll find that a lot more useful in the future than an expanded escort on your way home."

She was almost afraid to ask, but she knew that he wouldn't have mentioned his men if the situation hadn't warranted it. Although she never would have thought that she'd appreciate a pirate crew playing guard for her, she couldn't deny that the thought was surprisingly comforting. Perhaps it was the conversation with George that had unsettled her, or the hurried circumstances in which they'd left, but she was happily receptive of extra men to keep watch, especially while they were still on George's land. The fact that it had taken her own guards over half a day to notice them should have only made her concerned (and she'd certainly take Graham to task over it later), but right now, the point was clearly the skill of Killian's crew.

However, a handful of extra men wasn't going to make much difference in the larger scheme of things, and she told Killian exactly that. "I need an army," she finished, holding her hands palm up helplessly. "A loyal crew is a thing to be admired, Killian, but it's not going to protect my borders."

Nodding slowly, Killian nudged his borrowed horse just slightly closer to hers. "Emma," he said, and she felt an unexpected flood of warmth and familiarity flood through her at his use of her name, a rare thing since he'd come back into her life. "I've not just a ship's crew worth of men at my disposal." He paused, seemingly taking the time to choose the right words. "You know I've been land bound for a few years. I'm a captain without a ship - I turned my hand to other things. The men that you refer to as my 'crew' may have started out that way, some of them at least, but they've expanded in number since then. I've scores of men in easy reach, and access to plenty of others, some of whom will fight to the death to defend your country if I ask it of them... and others who will fight just as hard for a price."

For a price? Her face fell when she realised what he meant. "Mercenaries. You'd defend my country with men and women who'd just as easily turn on me for a higher count in gold?"

Killian scoffed. "There are mercenaries, and there are mercenaries. There's a saying, love, that there is honour among thieves. Well, there's honour among mercenaries too, and among pirates. The type who I can find for you will want a coin or two for their troubles, to be sure, but they'll not turn on you until their mission is complete. And that'll not be done until I say it is. These are my men, Emma. If you can trust me, then you can trust them."

And that was the problem - she didn't want to trust him, but still she did. He'd changed a lot since they were younger, but then she was sure she had as well. And in some aspects he was still the same. When she thought back, sure, he'd almost gotten them into trouble too many times to count when they were younger, but usually only at her encouraging, and he'd always managed to get her out of it with no incident.

Unfortunately, there was more at stake this time than just her mother's scolding and her father's disappointment.

"I'll consider it as an option," she said quietly, her mind unable to think past her parent's reaction if this was the only solution she brought home. "If I consider it to have merit then I'll broach it with my parents when I return home." She already knew what they'd say, how quickly they'd dismiss the idea, but she didn't want to argue with Killian just now. It didn't matter if his men were good; it would be seen as a desperate move for her mother to flesh out her army with men who'd change sides for a higher price, despite what Killian had claimed. With a sudden onset of curiosity, she swept her eyes through the forest surrounding them. She could barely make out her own guard, let alone the extra people of Killian's who were keeping watch on _them._ "That's the best I can do for now."

If she thought it was bad enough that her sudden marriage to Killian had brought an unexpected twist into her life, it was only a few days longer before everything else she knew was turned upside down.

They'd made good time, and Emma's mood had lifted considerably than when she'd first left George's castle. She'd thought long and hard about how to announce to her parents that she'd come back empty handed, and despite the problems that she'd bring home with her, she knew that they'd face it as they always did: together.

She'd also just about figured out how to tell her mother and father that she'd taken a husband, but she was still choosing to put that off for now... if she were to be honest, she was more nervous about that than the other. They could find another way to protect their borders, but her parents only had one daughter. They'd told her that her husband would be a man of her choosing, but she was sure that they hadn't expected pirate captain when they'd made that promise.

Killian rode beside her, as he'd done for much of the trip so far. He'd been inescapable, which she knew was smart considering they were supposedly desperately in love, but in truth she was more than ready for a few minutes to herself. She'd been forced to let him sleep in her tent and to be fair, he had kept his hands to himself as promised. Still, she'd found it difficult to sleep, overly aware of the sound of his breathing as it slowed and evened out, unable to distract herself from every slight movement he made until she finally drifted into a fitful sleep of her own.

During the day was a different matter. He spent most of the day riding by her side, and she was glad for the opportunity to reacquaint herself with him. It had been a long ten years since she'd seen him last, and they were both very different people than who they'd been before he'd left. Somehow, they'd managed to skirt anything too serious, like what had happened to his brother, or her crushing loneliness in his absence. Whenever his tone became curt or hers defensive, the other would steer it to easier topics. They managed to avoid any serious conversation about the future of their marriage, which Emma was grateful of - he made light of the situation often, but only in a way that she was able to scoff at before changing the subject. The rest of their time was spent in a surprisingly comfortable silence, which gave her plenty of time to try and figure out a plan going forward.

Killian hadn't mentioned his mercenaries again, but their presence had been there, a constant, subtle group surrounding their own. The scouts that Graham had sent ahead of them had gone unhindered, but she knew that her bodyguard was uneasy about the extra men. She'd seen him and Killian in a quiet but heated discussion on more than a few occasions, but had resolved to stay out of it. As far as she could see, for the moment they were doing no harm, and any further contracts that might be negotiated with Killian's men were a matter for her parents to decide.

It was midmorning on their last day of travel, her city only a few hours ride ahead of them, and Emma was once again riding with Killian at her side. The silence between them was one of easy familiarity, something that had sprung again between them with no encouragement required. Despite that, her thoughts had turned decidedly towards the parts of the last ten years that he'd gone out of his way to not speak of - the death of his brother, the loss of his hand, his reputation as an unrelenting, ferocious captain that had spread throughout her country. She caught herself wishing for the time when he might open those parts of himself to her, and shut that down quickly.

Theirs was a short term deal, and she wasn't going to get herself used to the idea of having him around.

She wasn't so focused on her thoughts that she failed to recognise the man riding towards them, or felt the tension in her guard at the approach of an unknown person. Graham was in front of her in an instant, his sword drawn before him. "Declare yourself, man!"

The man stopped before them, completely ignoring the challenge before him. Instead, he turned to Killian. "Captain?"

Killian nodded, urging his horse forward to greet the newcomer. "This man is one of my scouts," he announced. After an unnecessarily long pause, Graham signalled for the rest of her guard to lower their weapons. She could see his irritation in the set of his shoulders, and in truth she couldn't blame him - Killian's man wouldn't have approached them if he didn't have important news to share, and if he'd found something, then the true members of her guard should have done so first. "What news?"

The scout looked straight past Killian to Emma, and something in the hesitation on his face made her breath catch in her throat. "This might be best told to her highness in private, sir."

Graham twisted in his seat, trying to keep an eye on the scout while also addressing Emma. "Your Highness," he began, and she could tell by his tone that he had no intention of allowing it.

"Go," she blurted out, trying to ignore the sick feeling in her stomach. Graham turned fully to her, wide eyed in silent protest, but she wasn't having any of it. Pushing past him to approach Killian and the scout, she waved Graham away without looking back at him. " _Go_."

Killian reached out to place his hand on her back when she reached him, the gentle weight a comfort against the fact that the scout now seemed to be having trouble meeting her eye. They waited a few seconds as the sounds of her folk retreating faded into a illusion of solitude before Killian nodded for the man to continue. "Go on."

"Your Highness," he said, bowing as best as he could upon his horse. "I ventured ahead to sight the city before our return. My news isn't good, I'm afraid. I stopped at the gates briefly to be sure, but..."

He trailed off, and Emma felt dread settle a little deeper inside her. "Out with it, man," Killian snapped, clearly no more patient than she was. She could feel his eyes on her, everyone's eyes on her, as the worst of every situation flew through her thoughts, each option discarded for something darker.

None of them were as dark as her new reality.

The scout eventually met her eye again, and she was sure she read genuine sympathy there. "Your Highness, I regret to inform you..." His formal manner faltered, before he discarded it completely. "Your father has died, milady. Just two days ago. The manner of his death hasn't been announced yet, but there's rumours abound already. It is said that your mother has almost succumbed to a similar fate, perhaps poison, but that she's holding on by a thread -"

Emma didn't wait about to hear the rest. Tightening her grip on the reins, Emma forced her horse forward and around the scout, ignoring first Killian's and then Graham's shout of protest as she took off down the road with as much speed as she could muster. There was no room for any thought but getting home, to being with her family, and she was sure, she was _certain_ , that if she could return in time then things would be all right. Somehow, things would be all right.

She couldn't even consider it.

Her mother couldn't be deathly ill. Her father couldn't be _dead_. It just couldn't happen.

 _She hadn't been there._

She didn't manage to get very far before someone not only caught up with her, but swerved their mount in front of hers to block her path. Bringing her horse up abruptly, she stared at Killian wide-eyed, unable to catch her breath. "Get out of my way," she snarled. She hated the catch in her voice, hated the sudden darkness in his eyes that spoke more of empathy than sympathy _._ "Don't even bother trying to stop me, Killian."

Killian's jaw twitched, his eyes on her unmoving. "I wasn't planning to," he said, his quietly serious tone the last thing that she'd expected. "Of course you need to get there as quickly as possible. The others will slow us down, but you're not going without me, at the very least."

Emma stared at him, aghast. "I couldn't give a damn about the theatrics right now, Killian."

Bringing his horse around so he was beside her, he reached across the space between them, taking her hand in his. "That's the furthest thing from my mind, Emma. This is for you. You're not going to go through this alone."

She held onto his hand tightly, struggling to keep herself under control. Her parents were her entire world. "Maybe he was wrong." She looked away, knowing that she sounded small and weak, but unable to hide herself from him. "Killian..."

"I know," he said quietly.

They rode as quickly as their horses would allow, but when the road widened at edge of the forest and the castle came into view, Emma stilled her horse, staring up at her home wordlessly. As she'd been warned, the flags baring her family's sigil were lowered to midway in a sign of respect to the recently departed. It was impossible to tell whether it was for just her father, or her mother as well.

How could things have changed so quickly?

"Emma," Killian said gently from beside her.

She couldn't take another step. "I - I can't..." There was a weight on her chest that wouldn't let up, that felt like it was suffocating her, but she couldn't move. Couldn't cross that last stretch of land, separating her from her life before and the future that she didn't want to consider.

"Waiting might put off the pain, love," he said, "but it won't lessen it."

His words sounded like they were a wisdom hard won, and there was a haunted look in his eyes that she couldn't bring herself to ask about. Slowly, she nodded. Taking as deep a breath as she could, she turned her gaze grimly toward home and urged her horse forward.


	3. Chapter 3

The Great Hall had seen witness to many events over the years, some of them grand and some intimate, some jovial and others quiet. Emma had spent more nights than she could remember here, dining at the head table with her family or at the benches with the people of her household, dancing to the music, or to the music in her head, even practicing sword fighting with her father or Graham if it were too cold out in the practice yard. She'd found the ceremonies interesting then boring, and the petitioners boring then interesting.

In all of her years, Emma had never found it to be so big and empty and lonely.

The tables and benches had been pushed aside, and King David's body had been laid out near the large fireplace, which currently was cold and quiet. Her father's body, dressed in his finest in preparation for his burial tomorrow.

Emma had no real notion of how far into the night it was, but the candle by her side had burned down most of the way. The only hint of light from the windows was starlight, and even that seemed dimmer than usual. The castle was quiet, very quiet, so it was likely a good few hours before dawn - late enough that everyone had long headed for their beds, but not late enough for the cook and his assistants to be starting their preparation for the next day's meals.

It was cold, too, awfully cold, but Emma had refused to let them light the fire before they'd left her to her vigil. What good was warmth, if it couldn't bring the warmth of life to her father's body? Her joints felt stiff, but she blocked out the feeling. There would be no comfort for her tonight.

In stories, when a person died they looked peaceful, restful, as though they were simply asleep. At first glance, that seemed to be the case - despite whatever pain he'd been in when he'd died, his features were relaxed now. But the longer she sat with him, with her flickering candle by her side and barely bringing light to his face, the more certain she became that he didn't look merely peaceful.

He looked empty.

Her father wasn't in there anymore.

Still, she'd sat by him since the sun had set, holding his limp hand tightly in hers as though to hold onto this last physical connection to him for a little longer yet. This was not her father as she knew him. He's always been such a strong, sure presence in her life, and now... and now there was just this cold, empty body to bury in the morning.

She'd spent some time with her mother in the afternoon, but that had been little better. Poison had been slipped into David's wineglass and taken his life, and the mouthful that Snow had taken from her husband's glass hadn't been enough to take her down as well, but it had been enough to knock her out temporarily. Or it would have been temporary, if not for the way she'd hit her head on the edge of the table on her way down.

No one could tell her how long it would be before she woke up. If she woke up. Emma had spent her afternoon lying beside her mother with her head on her chest, listening to her heartbeat and feeling her head rise and fall with every gentle breath.

There was no room in her mind for the thought that Snow wouldn't wake up, no matter the pitying looks that were thrown her way all day. She didn't have time for that, or for them, or for anything other than paying due respect to her father and being by her mother's side.

 _Both of them, in one day..._

 _And I wasn't here..._

The small amount of light thrown from her flickering candle cast strange shadows across David's face, and Emma reached out to smooth an imaginary frown on his brow. Running the backs of her fingers across his forehead and down his cheek, she remembered his brilliant smile, his warm laughter, the pride she caught in his eyes when he looked at her and she blinked against a sudden stinging of her eyes. She'd cried more tears than she could have thought possible over the last few hours, if only in private, but now she felt all dried up. She felt as empty as her father looked.

The sound of the heavy door creeping open was only magnified by the stillness of the night, but Emma didn't look up to see who it was. Someone had been in to check on her every hour or so since she'd begun her vigil, first Ruby and then, as the night wore on, Graham. She was surprised when she heard the door pushed closed again, and the footsteps sounded less uncertain than the others had. A few moments later she felt warmth spread over her shoulders, a hand pressing a blanket around one shoulder, and a hard piece of metal urging it around the other. Finally looking up, she watched as Killian settled down next to her, his sad eyes on her father.

Pulling the blanket closer around her with one hand so that she didn't have to let go of David's, Emma struggled a moment with her reaction. She'd asked for solitude, and in part she did feel annoyed that he'd ignored her wishes. On the other hand, having him here didn't seem terribly affronting. "Thank you," she settled on eventually.

Killian nodded slowly, still not raising his eyes from David's body. "It's nothing," he said quietly.

Surprisingly, it was a comfort to have him there. She wasn't sure whether he was there for himself or for her, or whether it was just to keep up appearances. Their marriage had been the last thing on her mind since she'd ridden into the city, but she supposed that someone must have made it known - Graham, probably. The idea of putting any effort at all into this ruse right now just made her feel weary, but he was smart enough to know how to deal with it without her.

The remaining hours until dawn passed in silence. By the time the room was noticeably starting to lighten, Emma was exhausted. She'd sat the last hour or so in a daze, her eyes heavy and her mouth dry, but she didn't move, and nor did Killian. Now, however, she started slightly when he stretched his legs out before him, rolling his neck. He probably felt as stiff and uncomfortable as she did. He hadn't needed to stay out for half the night with her, and she wasn't sure yet what it meant to her that he'd done so. Raising to his feet, he held out his hand to her. "It's time, love."

Instead, she tightened her grip on her father's hand, her knuckles aching from holding onto the cold flesh for so long. There was a lump in her throat that felt like choking her; she swallowed it down. That did nothing to ease the heavy feeling on her chest. "I can't let him go," she whispered, the words coming unbidden. "I don't think I can do this by myself."

She felt weak, her armour stripped down to nothing, every facade of strength gone, and her soul stripped bare for him to do with what he willed. Instead of tearing her apart, he knelt down before her, barely hesitating before pushing her hair out of her face, brushing his thumb under her eyes and across her cheek. "You're not alone, Emma," he said, his voice quiet but sure, his eyes earnest and truthful. "I'm with you. You're not alone." His hand covered hers, then manoeuvred her fingers until they were wrapped around his instead of David's, his big hand encasing hers with warmth and strength in such a contrast to her father's that she had to press her lips together to stop her lip from trembling.

Killian caught David's wrist with his hook and placed it by his side, and Emma let him pull her gently to her feet. _Just one more moment._ Bending over David, she pressed her lips to his forehead in one last goodbye. "I love you, Papa," she said under her breath, the words meant only for him. "I'll see you again."

There was no possibility of delaying the burial, but Emma had refused to hold a large funeral for him if her mother couldn't attend. She wouldn't take her mother's chance to grieve away from her, not while there was still time for her to wake up. And so, it was a small group that went down to the family crypt to bury the king consort, just herself and Killian, a few of David's closest friends, Graham and a handful of guardsmen.

She managed to hold herself together, but she couldn't bring herself to speak. The wound was still too fresh, and she felt like any words she made in remembrance would end in wail of loneliness and heartbreak. She knew that these were the people who wouldn't judge her if she fell apart, but she felt too tired, too empty, to do more than stand there and look on. It didn't feel _real._ Everything had happened too quickly.

How had her life changed so drastically since this time yesterday?

Graham said a few words, but she couldn't hold onto them long enough to remember them, couldn't focus on anything more than the solemn tone of his voice. Her hand was wrapped around Killian's arm, her fingertips becoming sore from the pressure, but rather than protesting her tight grip, he settled his hand over hers and squeezed tighter.

And so, in a stretch of time that seemed impossibly long but could never last long enough, the small ceremony was over and the people started to disperse. She let Killian lead her from the crypt, felt Graham's presence half a step behind them, and made her way back up to the castle.

It was unsettling how quickly everything changed after that.

She'd known that it would be her role to rule until her mother awoke, but she'd assumed - foolishly - that she would have more time to mourn her father. The daze that she'd felt stuck in until her father's burial wasn't allowed to last much longer than that. There were the obvious things, such as organising care for her mother. But there were also other things to organise, things that were far from her priority but no less urgent. There were staff to order the day to day goings on of the household, but there were always decisions to be made, things to be signed, people to host.

There were guests in the palace, there always was, and plenty of them with meetings or requests for meetings with their sovereign, and the inconvenience of her father's death and her mother's illness didn't mean that those people would disappear. All of those duties would fall to her until her mother woke. Yesterday she'd been able to plead her grief and her privacy, but now she spent most of her afternoon, along with the help of her parent's advisors, manoeuvring herself out of meetings and lunches and audiences with those people for the next few days.

It was well into the night before she was able to retire, and the palace was cold, quiet, empty. She'd taken a handful of bread and some cheese from the kitchens on her way to her rooms, too tired for anything else after lasting all day on an hour or two's fitful sleep after her father's burial. Still, she dismissed her maidservant at the door, her desire for solitude only slightly outweighing the few minutes she'd save getting ready for bed with her help.

Closing the heavy wooden door behind her, she pressed her forehead against it and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath in, a deep breath out. The pressure to be an image of poise and grace was not one that bothered her often, having been raised with that expectation, but today it had been too much, and now she had until dawn, at least, to let everything in and _grieve._

She felt instantly sick.

"Emma."

The word was spoken quietly, hesitantly, but still it startled her. Choking on her gasp of surprise, she spun around, not realising until her eyes landed on the person sitting on the chair by the window that she'd recognised the low timbre of Killian's voice. A candle illuminated his features only slightly, flickering in the breeze from the open window, and she had the feeling that he'd been staring out over the harbour while he'd been waiting for her. She wondered how much he was able to see, how bright the moon was tonight.

Killian stood, closing the window as he did so, and as his fingers moved deftly over the latch she noticed for the first time the covered dishes set out on the small table beside him.

"Oh," she said dumbly. Beside the covered plates was a jug of wine and two empty goblets. "You were waiting for me."

Killian shrugged nonchalantly, and she wished she could see his face better. "Yes and no. I know how little time you've had and I wasn't sure that you'd have time for a meal, so I thought..." He trailed off, reaching up to scratch behind his ear. "I haven't been here long. I wasn't sure whether to intrude or not, but I thought it would be expected."

Emma had hardly given their circumstance a thought since they'd parted that morning. "You're right," she said, her shoulders slumping. She rubbed at her temples, willing her mind to work a little faster. "I'm sorry, I hadn't even considered that. As far as anyone knows, I'm in mourning but I'm also a new bride, and I have no inkling at all of how that means I should behave." She took a deep breath against the heavy feeling on her chest, and was embarrassed to find herself shaking. "I've been stretched so thin all day, but my thoughts keep going to my parents. I keep thinking of... of what they would do, what they would want me to do, what they... And every decision reminds me that they're not here -"

Without a word Killian stepped forward, and for the short moment that she could see his face in the flickering light from the lanterns, the only thing she could see there was concern, and then his arms were around her. Squeezing her eyes shut, she pressed her face against his shoulder, her arms wrapping themselves around his waist and her hands making fists in the cloth of his shirt.

She was stronger than this, stronger than falling apart in the arms of a man that she barely knew anymore, but she'd used up all of her strength getting through the day, and a few moments of letting go wouldn't hurt.

"Believe me when I tell you that I know how hard it was for you to say goodbye to your father last night and this morning," he said, his voice taking on the same gentle tone that he'd used that morning, one that reminded her so much of the boy she'd once known that it surprised her to come from the man he now was. "This pain isn't going to leave you, not for a long time, and never completely. I know how much it hurts you to see your mother as she is, but she is still here. She is still here."

He pulled back but didn't let go of her, his left arm resting against her side and his hand on her arm. Emma let go of his shirt, raising her hands to dash the tears from her cheeks. She wasn't sure that she should put her hands on him again, so they hung awkwardly between the two of them. She soon forgot her hands though, caught up in the intensity of Killian's eyes as he looked down at her. Before he even spoke, she could see the promise in them. "I'm doing everything I can to find justice for your family. Grumpy and I are leading the guard in questioning the people who were present that evening, guest and servant alike. There doesn't seem to be -"

"Wait," Emma said, pushing aside her distraction to focus on what he was saying. " _That's_ what you've been doing today? Graham said that everything was being taken care of, but he never said that you were helping, let alone organising it."

She saw exactly the moment where his guard went back up. He took half a step back, dropping his arms to his sides. "If I've overstepped -"

"No," she said hastily, interrupting him again. She hadn't spared much thought at all to what he'd been during for the day, had assumed he'd been keeping to himself in the bustle of the palace in the aftermath of a tragedy. She certainly hadn't thought that he'd have gotten himself so involved (or that the staff would welcome his input so readily). She felt... she wasn't sure how she felt, except perhaps overwhelmed. "Thank you," she said, with as much feeling as she could. Her eyes were prickling again, and she blinked quickly a few times to discourage what tears might be inclined to fall. "Killian, thank you."

His eyes softened. "I will do this for you, Emma. I will find who did this, and..." He trailed off, cleared his throat and stared again. "Grumpy put me in contact with your spymaster, who has given me access to his network while we find out who did this to your parents." He paused. "What? What is it?"

Emma shook her head. " _Stealthy_ gave you access to his spy network? Father's been trying to get him to give him access for years, but he's always said that it was better kept separate from the crown."

Killian's shoulders dropped, and she saw for the first time just how tired he was, too. His day had probably been just as harrowing as hers, she realised. "Everyone's angry," he said quietly. "I don't think anyone cares about how things are done, for the moment anyway. Some want justice; some want vengeance. I think they're just welcoming of someone who wants those things too. Besides," he said, then paused before continuing. "Besides, I think they trust me, because... because of you." His lips stretched into what might have been a smile or a grimace, and it occurred to her for the first time that he hadn't shown any of his previous smugness or flirtation since they'd reached the palace the day before. "They all love you, Emma, so much, and if you think I'm worthy to be your husband then they're willing to accept me and my help."

She didn't know what to say to that, so she just nodded, trying to swallow down the sudden lump in her throat.

He watched her watching him, his head tilted just slightly, for a few long seconds before stepping away again, gesturing to the untouched meal behind him. "I thought it would be a husbandly gesture to bring you dinner," he said, glancing at the food and then turning back to her with a smile that was suddenly genuine, "but you don't look like you could sit through a meal."

The tension eased out of her at the change in mood, and the smile she offered back to him was smaller but no less real. "If I'm honest, I don't think I could sit through a bite of it. And," she added, "you look just as tired as I am."

He nodded, glanced at the door, at his feet, back to her. "If I loved you, I'm not sure whether I would want to give you some time alone, or whether I should be there for you in your grief."

She knew what he meant, and what he was asking. "I'm not sure either," she said slowly. She knew he'd been given his own quarters and they weren't expected to share a suite, but under the normal circumstances of a marriage made for love, the extra set of rooms should have been redundant. But things were different, now, and she was having trouble keeping up with what she was feeling and what she wanted the world to think she was feeling. "If I loved you, I think I'd want you to stay," she said eventually.

It didn't take her long to remove the pins from her hair, but she couldn't find the effort to brush it out properly, instead twisting it into a quick braid. Standing behind the partition in the corner that usually hid her bath from the rest of the bedroom, she undid the dozens of buttons that held her into her dress, discarded the garment and slipped into her nightgown. After only a few minutes, she stepped out from behind the partition and saw Killian, shirtless but still wearing his breeches, pulling one of the blankets off of the bed and onto the floor beside it. He still wore the brace covering his right wrist, but the hook was gone.

"What are you doing?"

He paused, looking between the bed and his makeshift sleeping place. "Are there other blankets you'd prefer me to use?"

It took her a moment to see that he actually intended to sleep on the floor, and another moment to realise that she shouldn't be surprised by the fact. Perhaps it was that she was simply already used to his exaggerated bravado, but she'd expected him to be making all kinds of jokes about sharing her bed. She wondered exactly what kind of blend of flirtation and genuineness to expect and whether she'd ever get used to the balance.

"You're not sleeping on the floor," she said instead, walking around the bed to pull the blanket from the floor. He'd commandeered a pillow as well, which she tossed back into place. "For one thing, if any of the servants were to walk in, I'm sure they'd find something amiss about my new husband sleeping on the floor next to my bed, and gossip spreads like wildfire in this place. And for another, I'm far too exhausted right now for it to be awkward, and I'm sure you feel the same way. Which also means I'm too tired to argue about it, so just get into the bed already."

Turning her back on him, she walked around to the other side of the bed, extinguishing the lanterns as she did so until the only light came from the single candles on either side of the bed. Pulling back the blankets, she blew out her candle before lying down and pulling the blanket over her. Facing the ceiling, she made a point of not looking at Killian directly, but couldn't help but watch him in her peripheral vision.

He stood still in the faint candle light, but if he were looking at her, it was in the same subtle manner in which she watched him. Finally he moved, bending to blow out the last remaining candle. Only afterward did he remove his brace, the slide of leather on leather on metal buckle reaching Emma's ears, before she felt the blanket move and the bed dip as he slid into bed beside her.

It was a large bed, and the only part she felt of him was his warmth, the only sound his breathing, barely audible. At first there was only stillness and quiet, but then the unease started to slip away and there was nothing left to distract her from the emptiness in her heart.

When she woke in the morning, the only evidence of Killian's presence was a slight warmth lingering on the bed where he'd slept, and his scent in the pillows.


	4. Chapter 4

The passing of time was a curse, a pit in her stomach, dread in her gut.

Emma stood on the terrace outside the council chamber. Her closed fists were pressed hard against the cold stone rail, her eyes squeezed tightly shut against the glaring morning sun and the biting cold wind. That's what she told herself, anyway. Her eyes were burning from unshed tears, her chest burning from her inability to draw a complete breath. Her heart… oh, her heart.

Footsteps behind her alerted her to someone approaching, and she sucked in her breath, not wanting anyone else to see her weakness. She stiffened when she felt a warm hand on her shoulder, and didn't relax when she opened her eyes to see Graham standing beside her, his face drawn with concern. He dropped his hand; she let out her breath, but slowly.

"No."

"Your Highness –"

" _No, Captain._ "

He didn't shy away from her, didn't put the distance between them that she'd demanded with the use of his title rather than his name. He very rarely disregarded her order for formality, but she also very rarely pulled rank with him. She could feel his eyes on her, his sympathetic, knowing eyes, and she knew that she wouldn't be able to hold it together for much longer under his scrutiny. Then, "Emma," he said quietly, gently, imploringly.

She started to tremble, unable to keep control of herself any longer, and she finally let go of the breath she was holding. It came out more like a sob. His hand reached for hers as his other arm came around her shoulders, and she let him pull her against his chest, squeezing his hand with both of hers, letting herself fall apart just a little.

 _It's too soon, far too soon._ So soon that it hadn't even occurred to her, not as a serious option, certainly not as a necessity. She still felt paralysed by the loss of her father, and from the fear that her mother wouldn't wake. Days had passed, then weeks, with no noticeable change in Snow's condition. Emma had done her best to keep herself under control, to show a brave face and rule her mother's kingdom in her name while she made her recovery. She'd been willing to do that for as long as she had to, but not everyone was so happy with the current circumstances, it seemed.

"They just want what's best for the kingdom," Graham said, holding her tighter for a moment before he relaxed his grip, letting her step out of his arms.

She wrapped her arms around her stomach, needing to hold onto something. She didn't feel like she was going to break apart anymore, but there was a pit in her stomach that wouldn't go away. "My _mother_ is best for the kingdom," she said, although her words lacked the bite that she'd used with the rest of the council. Graham's opinion wasn't the one that had shocked and hurt her so badly.

"She's a fine queen," he agreed. "She's done many great things for her people, and I hope to see her help many more." Emma turned away from him to look out over the city, suddenly sure that she didn't want to hear the rest of what he had to say. "But Emma, I fear you sell yourself short. You've handled the leadership of the city and the kingdom incredibly well over the last few weeks, better than anyone else could have."

"But hardly by myself," she said. "I'm only doing about half of what they give me credit for. Between you and Killian, the staff, the council… You all do a very good job of making me look like a convincing ruler." Reluctantly, she turned her head to look at him, and saw exactly what she expected on his face. "You think I should do it, don't you?"

He smiled at her without humour. "The only thing that they want is stability, for their home, for their people. You might think that you're leaving all of the hard work to us, but you forget that even when I'm not shadowing you, I get the reports of those who do. I know that you barely stop from sunup to sundown. The fact that Snow was an incredible ruler doesn't mean that the same can't apply to you."

Emma stared back at him blankly. "If I let them hold a coronation – if I let them make me queen – then that's as good as accepting that she's not going to wake up. I can't do it, Graham. Not yet." She stepped back from the wall. "They can finish without me. Will you make my excuses? I need to sit by her a while."

Without waiting for Graham's response, she turned and left for her mother's chambers, knowing that the only thing that would give her a shred of comfort was the sight of Snow's chest rising and falling, no matter how slowly it moved.

* * *

The passing of time was comfort, trust, a relaxation into familiarity.

Although she found herself pulled in multiple directions during the day and Killian always had quite a lot to do, they tried to make time to have their meals together most days. Breakfast was regularly a hasty bite to eat before their long days started, but dinners were always had together in main dining hall. He sat to her right and did a fantastic job of entertaining whatever guests they might be hosting, or talking seriously with her advisors, or joking with her friends. Before, when they'd known each other, Emma had always teased him that he could charm the spots off a cow, but when he'd returned she'd worried that his boyish charm had been tainted by age, that his manner and good looks had become more of a weapon than his genuine good nature. She didn't have to watch him for long, though, to know that for all he aimed that handsome, flirty smile at anyone in the vicinity, the twinkle in his eye was entirely the boy she'd once been so close with.

Their midday meal was her favourite, though. Most days one or both of them would be too busy to lunch in the hall, so it wasn't uncommon for them to meet in the kitchens. There was always a stool or two for them to perch on, some bench space that could be cleared for them in the corner and out of the way. She couldn't stop the staff from fussing over her, the head cook especially, although sometimes she wished the younger girls wouldn't get so unnecessarily close to Killian while they were refilling his tankard or taking his empty plate.

Today, though, was the best kind of day. When she'd arrived at the kitchens for their meal, it was to a message from Killian that he was neck deep in reports in his study and wasn't able to get away. The head cook, the old Widow Lucas, had a basket already packed for her, and handed it over with a look that tried to be stern but was ruined by the smile she couldn't hide. "You make sure he doesn't spend all day hidden up in that stuffy room, you hear me?"

With a quick assurance that she'd do what she could, Emma took the basket and made her way up to the room that she'd given him to use as a study. It was hardly stuffy, with its large windows that were today thrown open, letting the midday sun and the smell of the ocean into the room. Maps hung over one wall like tapestries, and the other was hidden by a long bookcase. Her attention went immediately to the person sitting at the desk at the end of the room, right by the window.

Killian didn't look up at her right away, absorbed as he was in his work, but when he did a series of emotions passed clearly across his face. Surprise, exasperation, pleasure. "You didn't have to come all the way up here to make sure I eat, love."

"And have you wait until the evening meal and eat all the food off of my plate? I don't think so."

He had been exaggerating when he'd said he was neck deep in reports, but only barely. Piles of parchment were strewn over the desk, open or folded or rolled into scrolls, with no apparent order to them. Knowing Killian's meticulous nature, however, she was sure that things were laid out just as he'd want them, and so she waited for him to make room for their meal rather than helping him. Once he'd done so, she placed the basket on the desk and lifted the cloth, pulling out freshly baked bread, cold chicken, a piece of cheese. There was a bottle of wine, too, but as she lifted it out she frowned at the empty basket. "They forgot glasses."

"We'll make do." Taking the wine from her, Killian used his hook to remove the cork and took a swig directly from the bottle. Smiling and shaking her head at him, Emma took the bottle from his outstretched hand and followed his lead. She grabbed the chair that usually sat opposite him and moved it around to the side of the desk to be closer to him.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the food and the quiet company. As was her new normal, this was the first time during her day that she wasn't surrounded by people who wanted something from her. That was what she enjoyed so much about her lunches with Killian. It didn't matter if they talked or not, or if they talked about trivial things or important things or heart wrenching things. For the first time in her day, she didn't have to watch her words or guard her face, she didn't have to give, give, give. At first she'd latched onto the idea of making this their routine for the same reasons why she made most of her decisions with him – to make it look to the outside world that their marriage wasn't a facade – but she'd quickly began to rely on this time together to keep her sane, just like she was relying on him more and more for everything else.

Eventually she gestured to the piles and piles of parchment. "I assume these aren't reports on our grain stores or anything so mundane."

Sighing, Killian took another draw of the wine. "I'd wish for something so simple." He gestured with his hook to the two reports he'd been reading through when she'd walked in, put aside for now but still in easy reach. "Stealthy's reach of spies is incredible and invaluable, particularly the men and women he has deep in Arthur's court. The ciphers are complicated but nothing I can't handle now that I have the code memorised. The trouble is the discrepancies in the reports, and determining which to give weight to."

"This wouldn't be the first time you've had to make a difficult call, I'd imagine."

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Hardly. But even if I'm faced with contradicting information, I usually know the measure of the men who supply me with it, which makes it easier to know who to place my faith in. A spy network as intensive as this means that even Stealthy hasn't met a good deal of his informants, so how am I supposed to judge a man's word when I have no judge of his character?"

She wanted to put her hand over his and squeeze his fingers in reassurance. Instead she reached for his arm. "You'll do the best you can. It's all any of us can do."

His eyes softened as he smiled at her faintly. She smiled back at him but it slipped after a moment, and she dropped her hand and dropped her eyes. He was doing an incredibly good job as his best, and she was doing something but had no true idea of whether it was the best thing, the _right_ thing for her kingdom or not. No – her _mother's_ kingdom. Her teeth bit hard into her lip as she tried to find control again.

Killian did reach for her hand, and she squeezed it firmly, wrapping her fingers around his and taking strength from them. Raising her eyes, she found him watching her intently. "Emma. Whatever decision you make about the coronation will be the right one. I don't think you're wrong to have faith in your mother's recovery. I have faith. In her, and in you."

Without letting go of his hand, Emma took a deep breath in and then let it out slowly. "Thank you," she said quietly.

He smiled at her with confidence. "You'll do the best you can, love. It's all any of us can do, and it _will_ be enough."

* * *

The council meetings had quickly become Emma's most dreaded task. In the past she'd always enjoyed sitting in on them when she could, watching her parents take command of the council and the kingdom with such ease. She'd enjoyed the pride in her father's eyes when she had contributed.

Her previously warm relationship with most of the council was strained now. She knew that she had managed everything so far with efficiency, and that she had their invaluable support. Most of these people had been close friends with her parents and had watched her grow up. But for the last few days, her refusal to be crowned queen had added a tension to all of their discussions.

Today, at least, the topic of her potential coronation was at far from the priority. Stealthy had received a report from the border that they shared with Camelot that did not bode well for them.

"The raids have been going on for some time, and the men we've had posted there have been able to check most of them. I think, though, that we might be keeping the upper hand by their design."

Graham spread a map over the table detailing both kingdoms and the official border between, weighing the corners down. "We've sent scouts across the border, both official in uniform and Stealthy's dressed as civilians, and both have sent us similar reports." He paused, looking around at the others before looking directly at Emma. "They're amassing an army."

"They don't have too many soldiers gathered in the one spot as yet," Stealthy continued, as Emma's heart sank. "Fifty here, a hundred there. They seem to be trying to avoid as much notice as they can, for now at least. One interesting thing, though, is that although the people doing the raiding were in common clothes, the men and women who we've followed after our army has chased them off have made their way to the camps rather than the villages nearby."

"Camelot's civilians aren't against us," Ruby said, sounding relieved. Then she paused. "Just their army."

"We can't say that for sure, but it's a strong possibility. What we know for a fact is that their army are the one's performing the raids, assumedly at the order of their king, and that they are retreating after putting up barely any fight."

"They've been testing which parts of the border have the most coverage," Graham said. "And by doing so, they've made us think that we have control of the situation. Why send more soldiers when the people there can ward off the threat so easily?"

"Then we send more soldiers," Grumpy said. "We show them our strength, and maybe _that_ will ward them off. And if not," he said with a shrug, "then we'll have the numbers there if it comes to fighting."

Emma glanced at Graham, then at Killian, and wasn't surprised to see identical expressions of reservation on their faces. Stealthy's bleak expression confirmed her doubts. "We don't have any more soldiers to send, do we? Not without leaving the other borders undefended." And there was no possibility that she would allow that, not with the recent tensions with King George.

Silence filled the council chamber as no one offered a solution – Emma was sure that there wasn't one. Was this it, then? With her father gone and her mother absent, Arthur was going to finally make his move. The wheels of his plan had probably been in motion for quite some time, but what luck to have it come to fruition when his target was being led by an inexperienced girl, she thought bitterly. Snow White would have found a solution, she was sure of it. Her mother always found a way.

Emma had almost had a solution. If she'd let go of her pride and married George in the first place, then they would have the soldiers that she needed to defend her borders. But instead, she had Killian. A pirate captain without even a ship. Although…

He still had a crew, and more connections besides.

Spinning in her chair so she faced Killian directly, she looked at him with wide eyes, trying to rein in her excitement in case it was premature. "How many men in your crew?" she asked hurriedly.

His eyes narrowed but didn't flicker from hers, and she could all but see his mind working quickly to catch up with hers. "A score, give or take. They're the men and women who would be my crew if I were to have my ship back, those who I keep closest." She remembered the feeling of eyes on her on the journey home with Killian. She knew that those he trusted most were never far. "But –"

"But they're not the only people who you have access to."

"Exactly."

"How many, do you think?"

He was quiet for a few seconds, his eyes never leaving hers. "One hundred to leave from here in the next two days. Perhaps another hundred to meet up with them along the way."

"Two hundred men?" Happy said doubtfully.

"Two hundred _good_ men," Killian said, turning back to the rest of the council. His voice was calm, _almost._

"Mercenaries," Grumpy scoffed, his distain clear in his voice.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Killian stiffen, and threw out her arm to stop him. Glancing at him quickly, she saw the twitch in his jaw and the dark glint in his eye and understood it, but she couldn't have fighting amongst her ranks. Turning back to the others, she threw her own glare over each of them. "You can mock and sneer all you like," she said coldly, and was pleased to see them taken aback – except for Ruby, who was watching her with what looked like delight. "But unless you can offer another option in such a short timeframe, then these are the men that we will be using. _My husband_ has been nothing but successful with everything he's put his hand to since he arrived here, and if he vouches for these fighters then I will stand beside him. You forget, perhaps, that if you want me to step up and be your damned queen, then you will have to accept that _he_ is the man who will be standing beside _me._ "

Most of them couldn't quite meet her eye, which made her feel equal parts satisfied and sad. She didn't want to be the kind of leader who pulled rank on her advisors so thoroughly, but she could hardly help it when they couldn't think past their own prejudice. Killian had no trouble meeting her gaze, however, and she couldn't quite place the expression on his face. Thoughtful – considering, perhaps. She narrowed her eyes at him. "You better have a plan forming, Captain," she said, and felt a flicker of affectionate exasperation when his half smile turned into a grin.

"Well the plan's obvious, isn't it?" Killian said, leaning back in his chair. "You're right, that a force of the amount of people I can gather won't make a large difference if we just lump them in with the rest of the soldiers. Which is why we're not going to do that." He paused for effect, then sighed when no one bought into his dramatics. "While your army is watching the border as they'll expect us to be, my force will move across the border in stealth," he said with a wink in Stealthy's direction. "They'll move in smaller groups, and there's an awful lot that small groups can do when they're not expected. We can tamper with their supply lines and their weapons, make small attacks at night, take them out a few at a time. Create enough havoc to disrupt the balance a little, and either it'll convince Arthur to retreat or make it a lot harder if he doesn't."

Graham cleared his throat. "It could work. That way we can focus our men on the border. It's the best plan we've got," he said to Killian, who nodded his thanks.

"And who's going to lead these bands of havoc wreakers?" Grumpy asked gruffly. "You?"

"No," Emma said before Killian could speak. "He will elect group leaders amongst his crew, who will report to those in charge at the border." She glanced to Killian, expecting anger or at the least frustration, but there was only that same considering look. "You're needed here," she said quietly, and he nodded.

"Very well. If you'll excuse me then, Your Highness, I have some things to put in motion."

* * *

Emma didn't see Killian again until dinner time, and she was bursting with impatience from having not heard from him all afternoon. "Well?" she mouthed to him as he took his seat beside her, and nudged his leg with her knee when he just smiled and shrugged. They could hardly talk properly about their covert mission at the dinner table with the rest of her household in attendance, but she wanted to know what he'd organised.

He leaned in so close to her that she could feel his breath against her ear with every word, and had to suppress a shiver. "My crew are contacting those close by, and should be ready to move in the next day or so. Some will be leaving first thing in the morning in order to gather others on the way. It's under control, love."

Emma sighed in relief. "Thank you," she breathed. She wasn't surprised in the slightest that he'd managed to organise everything so quickly, but it relaxed her to know for certain that things were underway.

His own breathing seemed to pause for a moment, and she turned her head to find his face inches from hers. His arm was around the back of her chair – they were very close. She watched his throat move as he swallowed. "No, love. Thank _you._ " He paused a moment, then withdrew his arm and straightened up.

They weren't hosting anyone noteworthy for dinner, so they were able to retire to their rooms at a reasonable hour. Emma and Killian had developed a routine of sorts, where they readied themselves for bed in what had become a fairly easy companionship, but as soon as Emma slipped under the blankets she acquired an awareness that she didn't have during the day.

She could feel his every movement from the other side of the bed, could hear each change in his breathing. His scent seemed to creep from his pillow to hers until she was enveloped in him. No matter how tired she was before she laid her head down, she was alert and aware as soon as the candles were blown out and his body within reach of hers. Eventually she'd manage to drift off to sleep, but when she woke in the morning he was always gone and she usually wouldn't see him until lunchtime.

Sometimes he lay awake in silence with her, and she could feel the tension in his body. How often, she wondered, had he lain side by side with a woman and not sleep with her? Not that he wanted to sleep with her, she knew, although he still joked about it when they were having a good day. She always rolled her eyes at him and brushed him off, but in truth his teasing and flirting had become a part of her day now, and she wasn't serious about chastising him. The twinkle in his eye and his laughing smile as he tried to cajole her into sleeping naked helped her banish the shadows of the darker, lonelier parts of her days.

Besides, he didn't mean it. But it was nights like this, when they both lay awake in silence at opposite ends of her large bed, that she wondered if he thought about it sometimes.

Eventually she managed to slip into sleep.

When she next opened her eyes, it was to a room still dark – it must have been a while before dawn and hours before she usually woke. She was warm, too warm for the weather, and she assumed tiredly that that's what had woken her. She started to roll away from the warmth at her back, but felt something caught around her waist.

Killian.

Suddenly alert, she closed her eyes again quickly, taking stock of her situation. The warmth at her back was Killian's chest – she could feel it moving with every deep, slow breath. She could feel his breathing against her cheek, too, his face pressed into her hair, and his arm was slung loosely over her waist.

She could push him away, back onto his side of the bed. Or if she didn't want to disrupt him, she could slip out of his grip and doze away the rest of the night in the chair by the window. But his body around hers felt like a kind of comfort she hadn't known before, and she didn't want this to end.

Moving slowly so as not to disturb him, slow enough that she could pretend to be asleep if her movements woke him, Emma rolled over until she was facing Killian. He shifted but didn't wake, falling from his side to lie on his back, and Emma's heart jumped to her throat when he reached up with his left arm to pull her closer to him. She lay with her head on his shoulder, her cheek pressed against his bare skin, her hand splayed across his chest. Slowly, slowly, she tried to breathe (why was she short of breath?) and felt a little more thrown when he sighed contentedly in his sleep.

Was this the first time he'd held her as they slept? Was he even aware? Was this why he was always gone when she woke in the mornings?

Carefully so as not to wake him, she traced her fingers over the dark hair on his chest, down over his stomach, up to his collarbone and up to his neck. Her heart felt like it was going to pound out of her chest, a stark contrast to the slow, steady pulse she felt under Killian's skin.

Is this what it could be like? To be held by a man like Killian, to be loved by a man like Killian?

By a man like Killian, or _by_ Killian?

Sleep was a long time coming back to her, but eventually it did, and when she woke, she was as alone in the bed as she was every other morning, his warmth barely lingering in the sheets.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Having made her announcement, Emma dismissed the council and waited in silence as they filed out of the room. She was initially surprised when Graham followed them, closing the door behind him, but after a moment's thought she realised that he'd been watching her from more of a distance lately than he usually did. When she was in certain company, anyway. It appeared that her husband was protection enough that he felt comfortable waiting on the other side of the door.

She turned to Killian, who was leaning back in his chair and watching her with that same pleased expression that he wore whenever she addressed her advisors formally. She almost thought it could be admiration, but that couldn't be right; he himself had been leading people for years. "I know that there are very few instances where I'd be planning my coronation with joy considering I'm succeeding my mother, but I never imagined feeling so ill about it." Her nerves were making her feel nauseous, true, but that was nothing to how heartsore she was feeling. "Do you think I'm doing the right thing?"

Leaning forward, Killian turned his chair so that he sat directly facing her. "I think that whatever choice you make here can be the right one, as long as it's handled correctly. You're doing it for the right reasons, and with the full support of the court, and that's what matters."

She searched his face for his true thoughts, and couldn't find anything to contradict his words. Reaching for his hand, she squeezed it tightly. "You've been a surprise, Captain," she said sincerely, and watched as his eyebrow rose and the corner of his mouth turned up in a surprised smile. "I honestly can't say how I could have survived these past weeks without you."

"I'm afraid you give me too much credit, Your _Majesty_ ," he said softly, ducking his head slightly without taking his eyes from her.

She smiled despite herself, shaking her head. Somehow he'd learned to make her smile no matter how dark or lonely her thoughts. "I'm not a queen yet, Killian."

His thumb rubbed over the back of her hand, the strength of his grip now a familiar comfort. "Perhaps not yet in name, love. Even so, you're the finest queen I've ever served." He raised her hand to his lips, pressing them softly to her knuckles.

Her eyes fluttered closed as her lips parted, all of her attention focused on the feeling of his mouth on her, until she was wondering where _else_ she'd like him to kiss her, and it was at that moment that she heard a door swing open. Throwing open her eyes and snatching back her hand, she found Graham's head poking in from the hallway. "I'm sorry to interrupt, Your Highness, but Madam Lucas has requested your input on the feast. She says that if you're expecting her to organise something as elaborate as a coronation feast in less than a week, then you're going to at least help her with the menu."

She couldn't think past his lips warm on her skin, his fingers warm around hers, damn it but why was she so _warm?_ Clearing her throat as subtly as she could, Emma got to her feet, trying her best not to look at Killian. She could practically feel his amusement as her cheeks only became hotter. "I'll see you at dinner, Captain," she said, immediately wishing she hadn't sounded so curt but just as glad that she'd managed to get the words out at all.

"Aye, Your Highness."

Halfway down to the kitchens, Graham broke protocol to walk in step beside her, glancing down at her with a smile on his face. "Can I ask –"

"No, you cannot," she said firmly, but couldn't help the smile tugging at her own lips.

* * *

As usual, Emma woke to an empty bed. Ever since the night that she'd woken to find herself in Killian's arms, she'd tried to make herself wake earlier to see if she usually found her way into his embrace or whether it was only the once. No matter how she tried, however, he was always gone by the time she woke.

But what would she do with the knowledge if she learned that it happened regularly? He seemed quite happy not to mention it, and she certainly hadn't asked him about it. The problem was, she thought as she stretched, that she couldn't be sure what he _wanted._

He flirted with her, certainly, almost constantly, but she could hardly take that as a declaration of his true affections when he also flirted with everyone else, from the most highly esteemed guest to the oldest servant. It was annoying, it was charming. It was harmless.

There was nothing harmless in the tightness in her chest whenever she saw him, or how he could so easily lift her mood, or in how he so effortlessly made her feel less alone.

After having water brought up for her to bathe, Emma dismissed the servants and washed herself in solitude, using the time alone to try and ready her thoughts for the day. There was quite a bit to do, between her regular duties and overseeing the preparations for the coronation. Tomorrow she would officially become the queen of Misthaven, and there was still so much to be done before that could happen.

Drying herself off, she dressed quickly and was combing out her hair when the bedroom door opened, and she looked up to see Killian standing in the doorway. She couldn't help the smile that spread across her face, but it quickly faded when she saw the thunderous look on his face. "What is it?"

Instead of answering her, he strode into the room, tossed a piece of paper onto the dresser and threw off his jacket. When he tugged at the laces of his vest she put her comb down and got to her feet. Picking up the paper, she could see that it was a missive from one of Stealthy's informants, but the cipher made the message unreadable. She realised Killian still hadn't answered her. "Killian?"

Removing the cloth vest that was his usual at court, he replaced it with the leather that he'd worn when she'd found him in the forest. "I should have seen it sooner," he said finally, but he spoke quietly, almost to himself rather than to her. "I _did_ see it… but I thought I was blinded by prejudice, and I couldn't let myself just assume, not about this."

With growing concern, Emma put down the paper and took a hesitant step toward him. "What are you talking about?"

He turned before she reached him and walked straight past her and out the room. She followed him into the sitting room and found him leaning over the writing desk, scribbling something on a piece of paper. "You'll have to give this to Stealthy for me personally. I don't have time to see him myself and I don't trust anyone else."

"All right," she said slowly, then shook her head, trying to clear it. _No. Something's not right._ "Wait –"

But he didn't wait. Folding the paper in half, he left it on the desk and strode past her back into the bedroom. With dread expanding in her gut, she picked up the paper and read the words jotted down hurriedly, lacking Killian's usual flair. _It was Arthur. I'll take care of it. Keep her safe._

Pressing her hand against her stomach, Emma stared at the words in front of her, her mind numb with realisation. Arthur. It was Arthur. She didn't need to ask what he was referring to. Her father was dead, her mother still comatose, and it was the same fault of the man who was trying to invade her kingdom.

 _I'll take care of it._

Dropping the note, she ran to the bedroom. Killian was standing by the bed with his back to her, and when she walked around him she saw what he was doing – tightening the straps on his satchel. Panic overtaking her, she grabbed at his arm. "No, don't –" With a gentleness that contradicted his mood, he removed her hand from him and tried to return to his task, but she wasn't having it. Grabbing both of his arms, she pulled him around to face her. "Just stop. For one minute, stop."

He didn't try to pull away again, but she could see the impatience in his eyes, the anger and the hatred. "Emma," he said, and she could tell by the set of his jaw how much he worked at keeping his voice soft. It was soft, yes, but also dangerous, and she felt a chill settle over her. "Arthur is the man who poisoned your parents. He killed your father and tried to do the same to your mother, and there's still a chance that he would have succeeded."

"That doesn't explain why you're packing," she said, struggling to speak around the lump in her throat.

His arms were tense under her hands, and his heavy exhale was anything but even. "I got someone close to him," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Very close, and they… they heard him _bragging_ …" He pulled away from her suddenly, opening his satchel and pulling out his flask with shaking hands.

She didn't want to think about what Arthur might have been saying, not if it caused a reaction like this in Killian. "That doesn't mean that you have to leave," she said quietly.

"He killed my brother." His back was to her, but she saw the heavy way his shoulders rose and fell, saw the great shudder that went through him. "Apparently he thought it was a fine joke when he learned that we had wed. Your parents; my brother. A fine joke indeed."

Her head swimming, she lowered herself to sit on the edge of the bed. After a moment she reached out for him, but he had already moved away. When she saw that he was replacing his regular belt with his sword belt she felt her blood run hot. "Killian, you can't go! You have two hundred men inside Arthur's border that can do this for you. Or this informant –"

He was shaking his head. "He's not an assassin."

"And you are?"

"You know who I am _,"_ he shouted, turning on her with wide eyes. "You knew this before I found you in the forest, you knew this when you married me, you know this now. I will do _whatever_ I need to do to make him pay for what he's done." He slid his sword into his scabbard with considerable more force than was necessary.

"I know who you are," she agreed, jumping to her feet. She didn't like him looking down on her when they were both so riled. "You're not seeking justice for my parents. You want vengeance for your brother."

"Of course I want vengeance! But don't you dare imply that I don't want the same for you," he warned her, tossing the knife he'd just picked up back onto the dresser. He stepped up to her, arms spread wide in front of her. "That has been driving me every day since I arrived here, Emma! You _know_ how hard I've worked, all of the reports I've read and written, all of the staff and guests that I've interviewed. I've worked _tirelessly_ to find the scum who would take your parents away from you. Yes, I want retribution for what that bastard did to my brother, but that doesn't lessen the fact that this man hurt you and yours, and _that_ is why I have to go." He dropped his arms, breathing heavily, then turned away, grabbing the knife again and tucking it into his boot. "You can believe me or not, but I'm doing this for you as much as for myself."

She couldn't bear the thought of him leaving. Logically, she understood everything. She did know the type of person Killian was, and it was a part of the reason why she cared so much for him. He was furiously loyal, and she didn't want to deny him the right to revenge his brother, but to do so would be to put him in incredible danger. Arthur would be surrounded by as many guards as she was. She knew that Killian was good at what he did, but it would take so little for things to go wrong. She'd had enough heartbreak; she didn't think she'd survive mourning him, too.

The thought that he might not come back gripped her stomach and _twisted_ , and she took in a big, shaking breath. She'd come to rely on him so much over the past few weeks, and she couldn't even imagine him not being there to support her every day. She'd known that he would leave eventually – a year had been their deal – but that had seemed so far off that she hadn't let herself think about it seriously. She'd thought they'd have more time.

She'd started to think that maybe by the time the year was up, he wouldn't want to leave.

She wouldn't even have that year if he left her now and got himself killed. She couldn't let it happen. But she could see the tension all through his body, see the fury in his eyes and the determination in his jaw. He wasn't going to be swayed.

A thought came to her out of nowhere, and even as she said it she knew how ridiculous she sounded. "My coronation is tomorrow," she reminded him, her voice dull and unconvincing even to her ears.

"You didn't even want to have one," he reminded her without looking up.

She twisted her hands together. "You have to be there. As my husband, you have to be there."

She watched his eyes squeeze shut, and when he opened them and raised them to her it was like a wall had come up within them. Squaring his shoulders, he lifted his chin and crossed his arms. "I thought you kept me here because you wanted me here."

Did he think that she didn't _want_ him? "I do. Of course I do!"

"But not more than you're worried about your reputation," he said bitterly. "I'm afraid to tell you that you married the wrong man, love, if that's what you're concerned about."

His eyes were guarded, it was true, but not well enough that she couldn't see the pain hidden there. Pain that she'd caused, when all she was doing was trying to protect him. Couldn't he see how much she cared about him? How much it was killing her to find herself at odds with him, how much she couldn't stand the idea of him leaving and not returning to her?

She took a step toward him, but stopped when she saw him stiffen. She wanted to reach out to him, to comfort him, to find comfort together. "You know that's not true," she said quietly. "I know who you are, and you know who I am. I've tried to live this marriage convincingly, it's true, but only to protect the two of us. Don't for a second think that I care more about that that I do about your safety." She swallowed down the lump in her throat. "You could die, Killian. How am I supposed to live with that?"

He shrugged with apparent nonchalance. "You'd manage, I'm sure."

How could he be so cavalier when she felt so frustrated and hurt and angry? The depth of her feeling was astounding. She couldn't let him leave.

Her eyes were burning; she kept them on the floor. "If I loved you, I'd beg you to stay," she said, barely able to get the words out. She felt like she was breaking apart at the seams.

It was impossible for someone to move so quickly and so quietly, and yet there he was in front of her, the detail of his vest disrupting her view of the floor. Her breath hitched slightly when she felt his hand cupping her cheek, his calloused skin against hers, and she let him raise her head until she was looking right at him. Her heart was pounding loudly in her chest as his thumb brushed over her cheek. "If I loved you," he said, his voice low and thick, "I wouldn't listen."

Without a smile or a nod, without a promise to return spoken or otherwise, Killian stepped away from her, his warm hand dropping from her cheek and leaving only the cold air in its wake. Feeling like her heart was breaking, Emma kept her eyes on the floor as he slipped on his coat and lifted his satchel onto his shoulder. She heard his footsteps taking him toward the door, heard them pause, and then with a quiet thud the door closed behind him.

* * *

A cold breeze flowed in from the open window, but Emma didn't feel it. A tapping sound reached her ears, but she didn't respond.

She couldn't believe that he'd actually gone. How had he just _left?_ She felt lost and alone, but more than that, she felt foolish. She could see past her surprise, see past her misery to what lay beneath it.

It wasn't that she didn't think he'd leave her because of any duty she'd placed upon him. She'd known from the beginning that her chances of keeping him in line to fulfil their bargain were going to be minimal at best, and in truth she hadn't wanted someone meek.

It hurt so much because she hadn't thought that he would leave her at all. She'd thought he felt as she did. She thought she was worth staying for.

If he died, if she never saw him again…

She hadn't even had the courage to tell him…

"Your Highness?"

Blinking in surprise, she turned her head slightly to see Graham standing by the door, a servant hovering a step behind him. Without speaking, she looked back out the window, only half seeing the familiar buildings nearby and the harbour in the near distance. The ocean beyond that sparkled under the light of the setting sun, oblivious to the hole in her heart.

She'd asked not to be disturbed. She'd put on a show of nerves for the staff earlier, and had forgone the evening meal in order to have an early night and be fresh for the coronation tomorrow. She knew they'd seen straight through her – they knew that Killian had left, even if they didn't all know why.

Graham waited longer than she'd thought he would before speaking again. "Your Highness, Madam Lucas has sent up a plate for you." He waited a few more seconds, and then sighed. "Put the plate down, Devin, and thank Madam Lucas for Her Highness."

"Yes, sir."

The door closed, with Graham still on this side of it. Striding over to the table, he forwent all protocol and sat in the chair beside her, wrapping his hands around hers. "Emma," he said quietly, and the only thing she heard in his voice was pity.

"I'm fine," she said, trying to pull her hands away, but his grip held firm.

"If you're fine, then why aren't you at dinner?"

She couldn't look at him. He knew her better than anyone, and she had a feeling that he'd known her own feelings before even she had. "I'll go back to playing the part you want tomorrow, Graham, but you're going to give me tonight." After her parents, after this, she just needed some time to not be put together. She needed... quiet.

He squeezed her hands gently. "The only thing I want is to not see you like this." He let go of her hands and she brushed her hair out of her eyes, returning her gaze to the table in front of them and the food she wasn't going to eat. "He's doing this for you."

"Arthur killed his brother. He's doing this for himself."

"And for you."

"Fine, then he's going to get himself _killed_ for me. That hardly makes me feel better."

Sighing, he gestured to the plate of food in front of them. "You have to eat. You're going to have a big day tomorrow, whether he's here or not."

"I'm not hungry."

"Emma," he said imploringly, and she rolled her eyes.

"Fine." Picking up the wineglass on the tray, she drained it in three gulps, barely tasting it. "Are you happy?" she said, raising her glass to him and silently daring him to challenge her.

Shaking his head, he took the glass from her hand and set it back on the table. "Some company, then? I can guard you just as well from this side of the door."

His insistence gave her pause, and she realised just how petulant she must be coming across. Irritable, snappish, and he was still there. Biting back a sigh, she managed a thin smile for him, never mind that they both knew how forced it was. "Thank you, Graham, but all I want is some solitude."

When she was finally alone again, Emma pushed the food on her plate around before covering it again, her stomach twisting at the very thought of food. It was almost dark now, so she lit the oil lamp but stayed by the window, breathing in the salt of the sea.

She wasn't sure what happened first, but she slowly became aware of a pounding in her head every time she moved even slightly, and the ill feeling in her stomach increased to something worse than merely stress and lack of apatite. Those things became insignificant, however, when she tried to focus on the window and found the windowsill twisting in front of her eyes. Feeling disorientated, she reached for the table to steady herself but found it to be farther away than she'd expected. Leaning forward, she reached for it, but suddenly it was above her instead of in front of her, and there was something firm pressing against her back, and when she turned her head to the side she felt the scratchiness of the rug against her cheek.

 _What is… what…_

There was a shout, she was sure of it, but she couldn't be sure what was being shouted. A moment or forever later there were hands on her arms and her world was spinning again. She closed her eyes against the moving room, only aware that she was being pulled into a sitting position once she was upright. Upright only lasted a moment, though, before she fell against the person who knelt before her, but they only straightened her up again. Something warm came around her shoulders: an arm?

"Emma? _Emma?_ Come _on,_ Emma." The voice was frantic – Graham's voice was frantic. She recognised it finally, grabbing onto the name before it disappeared into the haze that her mind felt like. " _Damn it."_

His hand was on her jaw, pulling her mouth open, his fingers in her mouth and down her throat and she felt her body heave in an automatic response. His fingers left her mouth, followed quickly by the contents of her stomach, and she had a moment of clarity as she sat slumped against Graham, coughing and choking and vomiting on the floor.

Poison.

That clear thought burned through her mind, but almost immediately afterward it became foggy once more, and she felt the strength seep out of her limbs. Her head fell against Graham's shoulder and then rolled back to be caught in the crook of his arm. She didn't have the strength to hold herself up. She could hear him talking to her, but his voice was getting further and further away.

She closed her eyes.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Through the layers of unconsciousness, Emma was still aware of a few things. Sunlight on her face. A blanket wrapped firmly around her. Something soft brushing her cheek, warmth against her shoulder.

Along with wakefulness came discomfort – she wasn't in pain, but she felt a tiredness and an ache that went through her whole body. Taking a deep breath, she stretched out with every muscle she could, rolling her shoulders and inadvertently disrupting the warmth leaning against her. She heard a hitch in breathing and then fingertips brushed her cheek. "Emma?"

She reached toward it, but found herself slipping back into darkness.

When she next became aware of the world around her, the first thing she realised was quiet. Her eyes flickered slowly open, and she stared at the ceiling for a minute or so before she managed to lift her head enough to look around the room and see that it was empty. Had someone been here before, or had that tender touch been her imagination?

As if on cue, the door to her bedroom opened and Graham entered, stopping still when he saw her trying to sit up. Calling for Doc over his shoulder, he rushed to her side and, sliding his arm around her back, helped her to sit up. She took in his tightened jaw, the stiffness of his arm, the worry on his face, just as she took stock of herself. She felt foggy, as thought she'd slept either a moment or a year, and her muscles ached when she moved them to support herself. "What happened?" she asked, and found her voice hoarse.

Instead of answering her, Graham stepped back to make room for Doc, who wrapped her fingers around a goblet and helped her bring it to her lips. She took a sip, then a mouthful as the cool water wet her mouth and cleared her head. Then, as her thoughts straightened themselves out, she pushed him away, staring at the goblet she'd just drunk from. "I was poisoned," she said dully.

Doc took the goblet from her and placed it within easy reach on the bedside table. "I'd advise you to rest, Your Highness, but since I know you won't take that advice to the full extent I beg that you at least remain in bed for the rest of the day." He paused, and his smiling eyes became suddenly quite serious. "I think I speak for all of us when I say that it gives me joy to see you awake." Clearing his throat, he smiled at her once more. "I'll be back to check on you in a while, but send someone for me if you need me before then."

Emma waited until he had left before she turned back to Graham, who had taken empty seat beside her bed. Had someone sat there, waiting for her to wake? Her mind went immediately to Killian, and she felt her throat tighten. "Is Killian -?"

"He's returned," Graham said quickly, and she let her eyes slide shut, her head falling back against the bed head in relief, the hurt she'd felt at their last conversation completely forgotten. "It's a long story," he continued, "but he returned this morning."

"He's safe?" she breathed, opening her eyes again to see his nod.

She'd been so certain that he wasn't going to come back to her.

Sitting up straighter, she took a deep breath, trying to keep her thoughts in check. He wasn't here with her now, but that didn't mean anything. Or if it did, she wasn't going to let herself dwell on it. "How long was I unconscious for?"

"Four days," Graham said quietly. She felt a tightening in her chest, the questions threatening to bubble out of her, but he shook his head before she could start, bidding her to silence. "I'll start from just before I found you, shall I?"

She didn't answer, caught suddenly with the full realisation of her last conscious memory. "You saved my life," she said quietly, trying and failing to keep a check on her emotions.

Graham's head bowed for a moment, and when he raised it again she caught just an instant of what looked like pure, heartfelt relief in his eyes. When, after a moment, it was veiled behind the dutiful familiarity that he usually exuded with her, she didn't press it.

He told her about what had happened that night, how the meal that was to be sent to her suite had been prepared in the usual manner by the usual people, and then sampled by the guard who was on tasting duty that night. After a standard wait of a few minutes, the platter had been brought to her room and left for her, and it was only after that had happened that the taster had suddenly shown the symptoms of poison. Graham had been alerted immediately, and he'd raced to her room to find her collapsed on the floor. It was the same poison that had killed her father and brought on her mother's coma, but used in a different combination to delay the effects to get past her tasters. Even so, it almost killed her.

And one thing was clear to her, even if it wasn't in Graham's report. "I would have died, but for you," she said, reaching out and taking her hand in hers. "Thank you," she said, hoping he could understand the depth of the sincerity that she poured into those two simple words.

Graham's calloused hand squeezed hers tightly before he drew it away. "That's only half the tale, I'm afraid," he said, his warm smile fading into a grimace. "I know you and Killian argued before he left." He paused. "I'd like to give you the facts before you see him, and then you can decide what to do with them. I expect that if he tells you himself, he'll leave himself in a less than favourable light."

Emma hardened her heart as she listened to Graham's tale of Killian's last few days, beginning from when he'd left the castle and ventured toward Camelot. He'd travelled a part of the way with his closest men, the people who he still counted as a part of his crew, until they'd passed just inside of Camelot's borders. There, he'd parted ways with them and ventured alone into Arthur's stronghold.

"Unsurprisingly, Arthur was squirreled away in his castle while the fighting was going on in his name. His bravery and assertiveness is legend, but I can't say I've ever seen it myself." Graham wrinkled his nose, but then his mouth formed a hard line as he continued. "I'm not sure you'd want the details of it, but Killian – or _Hook,_ rather – isolated Arthur. He learned it to be true that it was he who gave the order for your parent's poisoning. It wasn't too long before the scum's confession turned into gloating at the fact that you were soon to share their fates, and that Killian couldn't do anything to stop it since he was there, confronting Arthur himself, instead of by your side. And so, Killian returned home."

The hatred and anger in her heart at was mirrored in the harshness of Graham's voice when he'd spoken of what Arthur had done to her and her family. Her mind sped back and forth over the facts as they'd been presented to her. "And Arthur?"

Graham's lips stretched over his teeth in a poor imitation of a smile. "Unfortunately, King Arthur didn't survive the interrogation."

Emma's heart fell, and with it her head dropped into her hands. "I know I should be relieved," she said quietly, talking through her hands. "But… but I'd hoped that when we found their poisoner, we might be able to find a cure for my mother. And now…"

She choked on the words, unable to quite accept the fact that what was surely her last chance to bring her the last of her family back was lost forever. Graham's hand wrapped around her wrist and tried to pull it away from her face, but she fought against him, knowing that he cared about her mother but feeling selfish and alone in her sorrow.

"Emma," he said, tightening his grip on her and gently but firmly forcing her arms down. He was leaning forward on the edge of his chair, staring at her earnestly. "I don't think you understand. Despite my efforts to stop the poison from killing you, you still succumbed to the same sort of coma that your mother has been in."

The bitterness she felt that she'd woken while her mother wouldn't made her feel ill, but something about his tone made her stop and reassess his words and the situation. "It was the same poison," she said slowly. "And now I'm awake." She held her breath, not letting herself finish the thought flickering at the edge of her mind. "Graham, tell me."

His hands loosened on her wrists and slipped down to surround hers. "Snow was unconscious for a lot longer than you were, so we're not surprised to see you've woken first. But she will wake up, Emma. Your mother will be all right."

She stared at him, still uncomprehending, until all at once it seemed to hit her. Her mother wasn't going to die. Snatching her hands away, she pushed the blankets away and stood up, reaching down to put her hands on the bed to steady herself but somehow she wasn't as wobbly as she thought she would be. She wouldn't look at Graham, knowing she'd see concern on his face regardless, knowing he'd insist she stay in bed. "I'm fine," she warned him, quietly but firmly. "Don't you even think of trying to keep me from seeing her."

Graham remained quiet, until she looked up at him. There was worry, yes, but she thought she saw understanding as well. If nothing else, he knew he couldn't stop her. "Very well. But you'll lean on me." He paused, and then ventured a small smile. "If it pleases you, Your Highness."

Pulling on a robe, Emma took Graham's arm and let him help her to her parent's rooms. She hesitated at the door, her heart in her throat, but made herself push on. Snow's rooms were bright with the morning sun, but Emma didn't see anything except for her mother. She lay in the same position, at the same side of the bed as she had every other time that she had been to see her, but was there an extra flush of colour to her cheeks or was it just in her mind? She dropped into the chair beside the bed and took her mother's hand, squeezing it between both of her own and then holding it to her cheek. "Oh, Mother," she whispered.

"It might be some time before she wakes."

Such longing as she'd never felt spread through her at the sound of his voice, and she closed her eyes as she tried to arrange it into an emotion that she was ready to deal with. She gave up trying to find an appropriate reply after a few moments. She hadn't seen him standing there when she'd first entered the room. She didn't want to be thinking of him right now, of how he was here and safe, of how he'd returned to her to save her life and her mother's, of how he hadn't been beside her when she'd woken. Perhaps she'd imagined someone waiting beside her earlier – she must have still been asleep. She certainly didn't want to think about the conversation they'd had before he'd left and how broken it had made her feel. What did it mean for them now that he'd come back safely?

Pushing those thoughts away, Emma pressed her mother's hand more firmly to her cheek and leaned forward to brush the hair back from her forehead. The dark smudges and hollowness to her usually round cheeks made Emma feel ill, but she considered the fact that aside from that, she felt unbelievably well considering that she'd lain unconscious for days and woken so recently. Perhaps there was just a little magic mixed into the poison and its cure. Perhaps, when her mother woke, it wouldn't take long until she was up and back to her usual self.

Except that she'd wake to find her husband dead.

Every aspect of her happiness was tinged with some kind of sadness or hesitancy, and, selfishly, Emma was glad that she could feel a moment of happiness that Snow was going to be all right before she had to tell her that David was not. The wound of her father's death had barely begun to heal, and although she knew that it would open afresh when her mother's pain renewed hers, she clung to the thought that, despite what she'd feared, she wouldn't have to say goodbye to both of her parents just yet.

The silence had felt appropriate, with her attention focused on Snow and her relief that she was going to be all right, but the longer it went on the heavier it seemed, and she found her awareness drawn more and more to the man standing a few paces behind her. It was almost as if the more confident she felt that her mother was safe, the freer her mind felt to go to the other edge of her heart. She was angry that he'd chosen his vengeance over her, and hurt that he'd left her so quickly after she'd woken, but overpowering all of that was the all consuming relief that she felt to know he'd come back to her safe. Even so, that relief was a dangerous emotion, and led to ones even more threatening, so she kept her head high and her voice stiff when she said to the quiet room, "Have you nothing to say to me?"

The silence continued to stretch on for long enough that she considered that perhaps he didn't have anything to say after all. "I have a great many things to say," Killian said quietly, eventually, "once I find the courage to do so."

Emma closed her eyes against the sudden tightening of her heart. Courage to stay or courage to go? Taking a deep breath, she let her shoulders fall and bowed her head when she breathed out. She kissed her mother's hand, laid it with her other on her chest, and then kissed her cheek. "Graham, would you mind sitting with her for a time?"

"Of course, Your Highness."

Pushing herself to her feet, she felt a wobble in her legs but nothing she couldn't handle herself. Still, she barely had to look in Killian's direction before he was at her side, wrapping her arm around his, and if she leaned into him a lot more than she needed to, he certainly didn't need to know that. "Killian will see me back to my rooms." She turned to face Graham properly. "I want you to get me the moment she looks like she's waking up. Please."

He nodded once, then took her seat beside Snow's bed. Emma glanced up at Killian beside her but when she saw his eyes on her she looked away before she could see anything there. She couldn't risk putting everything between them out in the open in front of anyone else, in case it ended in her heartbreak. Tightening her grip on his arm, she let him lead her out into the corridor and toward her rooms. She couldn't recall feeling so vulnerable and nervous in her life, yet the knowledge that he was there beside her, supporting her, went a good way to calming her.

They didn't speak in the corridor, nor when they reached her rooms. She dismissed the servant standing ready there and informed her that she was to remain undisturbed unless it was with news of the queen. The servant left and suddenly the two of them were alone, and Emma hadn't yet found her words. Her mouth suddenly felt dry enough to choke her. Letting go of Killian's arm, she went to the table and poured herself a glass of water from the pitcher that had been left for her. Drinking it all in big gulps as though it were a spirit to give her courage, she set down the glass and turned back to Killian. He stood half the room away from her, but somehow it felt like half the world.

He hadn't just left her there at least, though he'd hardly made himself at home. He stood stiffly in the middle of the room, his face guarded, his eyes on her but not meeting her own. His discomfort was obvious, and she knew that no matter the outcome, they had to finally settle things between them properly. She was too afraid to simply reach out to him, but she could make a start at least.

"Thank you for saving my mother," she said earnestly, starting off with what, right at that moment, was the most important thing to her.

It clearly wasn't what he'd been expecting. Huffing a sound that seemed like a blend of shock and skepticism, his mouth twisted into something that bore only the faintest resemblance to a smile. "It feels strange to accept your gratitude when I dare not even ask your forgiveness. I'm sure I'll never be able to forgive myself."

The bitterness in his voice was as dark as she'd ever seen in him, and her immediate thought was on how to ease it for him. It was then that she realised that despite what he thought, and what she'd thought only a few minutes ago, she had indeed already forgiven him. The worst part for her had been the fear that he wouldn't return to her, and now that he had and he was safe, as well as the fact that he'd brought to her Snow's cure, she found her anger draining away. "Killian –"

"Where is your anger, Emma?" he asked her suddenly, and the formality that he'd hid behind since she'd woken was stripped away to reveal the Killian she truly knew, only with an astonishing amount of incredulity and anger and self-hatred. He finally met her eyes, and her breath caught in her throat. "I'm furious with myself, so where is _your_ rage? You almost died because I left you here, alone and vulnerable."

She stared at him in confusion. "You're upset because you weren't here for me when I was poisoned? Killian, there was nothing you could have done. They altered it so that it didn't take effect straight away, to get it past my taster. I'm sure you know that. It wasn't until after I'd eaten that he… that he…" It hit her fully, for the first time, that someone had died in order to protect her. She knew that there were plenty of men and women who had given their lives for her and her family, but this felt different, more personal, and it unnerved her in a way that she hadn't felt before. Killian made to speak but she held up her hand to bid him wait and he closed his mouth. When she had herself under control again, she spoke quietly but surely. "There's nothing you could have done, Killian."

He pressed his lips together and she saw his fingers flex by his side. "I could have been here," he said stubbornly. "You'd never have eaten here if I hadn't left."

"And they would have found another way to get to me," she pointed out. "You might have been poisoned along with me. And you never would have gotten the cure. My mother would never have woken up."

Killian opened his mouth but then closed it again after a moment. Taking a deep breath, he sighed it out violently and rubbed at his eyes. "I can't let go of his words, Emma. I captured Arthur and I should have had the upper hand, but he used Liam's death and what happened to your parents to make me angry, and then he laughed in my face that while I was there with him, you were getting a taste of your father's fate. I… I lost control of myself. I don't want to tell you what I did to get the information that I needed from him, but I did it. I know I shouldn't have killed him, but I was terrified for you and I didn't have the time to bring him back with me."

The words were said so plainly, with so little emphasis that it seemed a perfectly normal thing to be talking about: the death of a man, of a monarch. It was so much more than that, but Emma couldn't bring herself to dwell on that just now. There was so much pain in his voice and she wasn't sure how to deal with it. She wasn't naïve enough to think he was a stranger to death and to killing, but this hadn't been an easy death for him to inflict. Emma walked towards him, stopping when she was within reaching distance of him, if he wished to reach out to her. "Thank you," she said quietly, sincerely. "Thank you for what you did for me and for my family."

He looked at her, and then quickly down. He didn't reach toward her or move closer. "I did what I had to do," he said to the floor.

She wanted to touch him, to comfort him, but dropped her hand after a moment. Perhaps he didn't want her comfort. Perhaps he didn't want her at all. Her feelings weren't what mattered, right now. "I owe you everything. I don't think there's anything I can offer you that's equal to what you've done for me."

He flinched, and when he raised his eyes to hers it was as though a wall had gone up between them. "You've no need to worry, Your Highness. The only thing that I want, I won't take from you out of obligation."

Closing her eyes and swallowing down her fears, she took a deep breath and tried to keep herself calm. "I know we had a bargain, that we'd agreed to a year or two, but if you want to leave, I… I won't stop you." It broke her heart to say so, but if he truly wanted to leave, she wouldn't keep him here. Maybe, once, she'd have tried to force it, tried to keep him to their deal, but she just couldn't bring herself to hold him to it if it made him unhappy. She was too scared to look at him, too terrified to see what his relief at being released would look like.

He was silent for a long time, and she felt her last spark of hope that he'd want to stay with her fade. Well, then. She wouldn't let him see how much this hurt – if he wasn't going to be her husband, then she wasn't going to let him see into her heart any longer. Steeling herself, she straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin.

He didn't look indifferent, nor relieved. She wasn't sure which one she'd feared the most. He looked… confused. When her eyes met his, he seemed to unfreeze, shaking his head slightly. "Is that what you think I want?"

His surprise unsettled her, and all the preconceptions that she'd clung to. "Isn't it?" she said.

Killian spread his arms helplessly. "Are you honestly telling me that you have no notion of my heart?"

He sounded like… but no. She knew he'd grown fond of her, but she couldn't imagine that he'd feel enough for her to give up the chance to return to his old life. Could he? Her breathing was coming too fast, there was a sudden lump in her throat, and she found herself suppressing a shiver. Could he –

"Emma…"

"Tell me plainly," she begged, pressing her nails into her palms to stop herself reaching out to him. "Killian, I need –"

Before she could finish, before she could blink, he'd closed the space between them, his arm wrapping around her waist pulling her bodily against him while his hand plunged into her hair. She barely had time to note the fire and frustration in his eyes before hers slipped closed almost of their own will, and then his mouth was on hers. She leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his neck to pull him impossibly closer, overwhelmed with the sudden wave of emotion within her that rose to meet what was in the tightness of his grip on her and the sound that fell from his lips when hers parted against him to taste him.

When her lungs felt like bursting Emma finally broke the kiss, but couldn't bring herself to move away from him. Dropping her hands to his waist, she pressed her forehead against his shoulder, pleased to see his chest rising and falling as quickly as hers was. His arm came around her shoulders, holding her tightly to him. "How could you think that I'd want to be anywhere but by your side?" he said quietly into her hair. "If you'll have me, that is."

Emma smiled, ready with a quip, but when she raised her head and saw the earnestness in his eyes, the joke died on her lips. Instead she cupped her hand to his cheek, enjoying the scruff of his beard under the brush of her thumb. "I'll have you, Captain. If you'll have me."

His smile spread wide over his face, then faltered and he ducked his head. "Despite the way we'd parted, or perhaps because of it, I'd hoped to hold a place in your heart and in your life. After what I did to Arthur, I'd never expected to return to this life with you."

"Killian," she said, stroking his cheek one more time. "This isn't about what you've done or why. This is about who you are, and how much I love the person that you are." Taking a deep breath, she squeezed the back of his neck gently. "And if the worst thing that you have to offer is that you will do whatever you have to in order to protect your family, then I hardly think that's a thing to judge you for." She paused, and then said it again. "I love you."

He lifted his eyes to meet hers, and stared at her intently. Even with the fierceness of his gaze, his words to her were soft and sincere. "I've loved you since we were children, Emma, and from the moment I laid eyes on you again when you took me prisoner, and then took me as your husband. And you became my wife." Taking her hand in his, he raised it to his lips, and it felt infinitely more tender now that he'd kissed those soft lips against hers. "I'll be by your side for as long as you'll have me."

And that, she decided, was going to be for an infinitely long time.


	7. Chapter 7

**Epilogue**

There was so much to do, so much to plan. Arthur was dead, but that didn't automatically mean a respite from that quarter. He had died childless and so his uncle would inherit, but his stance on their budding war was as yet unknown. The general in charge at the border would reach out on their behalf, but missives would need to be sent with instructions on what they could negotiate on, if it turned to that. The hope was that the new king didn't share Arthur's conquering nature and would remove their forces peacefully. If he wanted to press his luck considering Misthaven's lesser numbers, then the general needed to know how much he could surrender in the queen's name.

Emma didn't want to think about any of it.

She dithered for a time about what decision Snow would make before delegating it to Killian and the council, trusting the council to reach a reasonable and realistic decision, and her husband to make them act on it quickly. She wished she'd been able to supervise the discussion herself, to do this one last important thing for her kingdom before Snow took the throne again, but she found that she couldn't focus on anything long enough to be of any use, not when her every thought was on her mother.

She couldn't find it in herself to feel guilty. There was nothing more important to her than making sure her mother was all right.

And so she was at her mother's bedside when, after hours of waiting, her breathing finally changed, a quick indrawn breath accompanied by a twitching of her fingers, a furrowing of her brow. Emma moved quickly from her chair to sit on the bed beside Snow, holding her breath as she took both of her hands in hers and squeezed them tightly.

Snow's eyes fluttered open and focused almost immediately on her. "Emma?" she asked. She frowned, lifting her hand to touch Emma's cheek. "Why are you crying?"

Something that was a mix between a laugh and a sob fell from her lips as she quickly dashed the tears from her cheeks before pulling her mother up into a hug, wrapping her arms around her as tightly as she could. "I never thought I'd hear your voice again." Her joy faded as quickly as it had surged and she pulled back so she could see Snow's face.

"What is it?" Snow said quickly.

Her words stopped in her throat, choking her, and her mother's comforting hands on her only made it harder. How could she find the words to tell her that her husband had died?

"Emma," Snow said, her voice gentle. "What happened?"

One long, deep, shuddering breath, two, three weren't enough, and eventually Emma admitted to herself that no amount of waiting would make it easier. "You were poisoned," she managed eventually. "You and Father. You've been unconscious for weeks."

Snow's eyes widened, her lips parting in shock. "Weeks?" She shook her head slowly in disbelief. "And your father?"

Somehow, she got the words out, and when Snow's face started to crumple she slipped into bed beside her, took her in her arms and held her tightly, as though that might be enough to hold them both together. Emma's own tears started again soon enough, and they mourned together for one of the greatest men they'd ever known.

They cried, and talked, and cried again. It wasn't until someone knocked on the door that Emma looked around, noticed how dark the room was, and realised how much time had passed. Stretching her shoulders, she called permission to enter and Graham stepped into the room. "I heard your voices a while ago, but I thought you'd wish to remain undisturbed." He paused, and then a grin spread wide on his face. "I can't tell you how glad I am to see you awake, Your Majesty."

Somehow, Snow managed to still look gracious, despite her bedclothes and red eyes. "Thank you, Graham," she said, excusing protocol with the use of his name. She nodded to the covered tray that Graham balanced with one hand. "You didn't have to bring that yourself."

"I wanted to see how you were both feeling," he admitted, closing the door behind him and moving to set the tray on the table by Snow's side of the bed. "And I know that neither of you have eaten since you've woken," he added with a pointed look at Emma.

Her stomach growled as if on cue, and Emma might have felt embarrassed if she weren't so happy to see Snow smile in response. "I had other priorities," she said, and then smiled herself at Graham's knowing look. He'd seen her with Killian, briefly, before he'd gone to the council and she'd gone to her mother's bedside, and she was sure that it was clear that they'd reconciled. She pressed her lips together, lost for a moment in the memory of what it had felt like to kiss Killian with all the passion that she'd felt for him, rather than the chaste farce they'd shown before.

Snow pulled her from her thoughts, handing her some soft bread wrapped around a lump of cheese, and they were silent as they ate. Graham cleared his throat as they finished. "The council has approved a message to the border, Your Highness, and sent it already. Some protested that Queen Snow, or at least yourself, should have the final approval before it was sent since you were awake and it appeared that Her Majesty would awaken soon as well, but I assured them that it was too important to wait, and the two of you would appreciate your privacy. For the most part, there have been no protests to Killian speaking on your behalf until Queen Snow is ready to take control."

"What do you mean, 'for the most part'?" Emma asked angrily, at the same time as Snow said, "Who is Killian, and how does he speak on our behalf?"

Graham ignored her question, and instead stared at her with surprise and then what could only be described as glee. "You haven't told her yet?"

Emma was very determinedly not looking toward her mother. "I could hardly tell her without telling her why, and since you and Killian appeared to have everything in hand, I thought we could spare her from that for a time," she said, irritated.

Graham leaned forward in his chair, his eyebrows raised. "You haven't told her that we've been at war?"

Snow turned to stare at her. "We've been at _war_?"

"Hardly," Emma said, hoping to lessen the impact. She knew how it had felt for her, to know that they faced an outside attack while also dealing with the loss of her father, and she didn't want to worry or stress her mother. "It's nothing you need to concern yourself with at the moment, and almost definitely done with besides."

The last was said with a very pointed look in Graham's direction, but neither he nor her mother seemed to notice. "That last is true, at least," Graham acknowledged. "Thanks almost entirely to Killian."

Snow threw up her hands. "Will somebody please tell me who this Killian is?"

Graham pressed his lips together and looked at her, and so Snow did as well. Sighing, Emma spoke to the blanket covering her lap. "He's my husband."

After a moment of silence, Emma ventured a look at her mother and saw her staring back at her blankly. "Your husband," she said flatly, then turned to look at Graham. "Her husband."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

She was quiet for a time longer, looking between the two of them. "Graham, I'm sure you'd be kind enough to fetch my son-in-law to me. And you," she said to Emma, "had better start explaining how you've come to be married with your father gone and me… indisposed, and how this is tied into this supposed war we've had."

Graham was already on his feet and halfway to the door by the time Snow had finished speaking. When he reached the door he turned to make a short bow, and Emma managed to catch his eye, sending him a pleading look. She hoped that he'd at least warn Killian on what he was walking into, even if she wasn't entirely sure what that was.

She considered telling Snow the story they'd concocted, but settled on the truth instead. She was certain that her mother would have seen through her in an instant in any case. She told Snow how she'd received King George's offer of marriage, and then come by Killian as though by chance. How she'd returned home to find both of her parents poisoned, how instead of only pretending to be her lost love and husband, he's stepped into a full role as her consort, supporting her in every way and taking on many duties without being asked. How, when he'd found out that Arthur had been behind the poisoning, he himself had gone into the enemy's camp to find justice. She told her of how he'd found out that she'd been targeted as well, and still managed to learn the cure before he returned home to her.

Snow listened to her tale in silence, though Emma could tell from the many times she pursed her lips and her hands fidgeted in her lap that she had many questions. When she finally finished, the one that she asked her was not the one she'd expected. "Does he know that you're in love with him?"

Emma opened her mouth, closed it, paused and then tried again. "I never said that," she protested.

Snow raised her eyebrows slightly, and Emma wished she could tell what she was thinking. "You didn't need to, darling."

Taking a deep breath, she thought back to her conversation with Killian earlier that day, and how good it had felt to tell him how she truly felt instead of holding him at arm's length. "Yes. He knows." She paused. "I should have told him much sooner, but now he knows."

A knock at the door interrupted them. While Graham had been gone, Emma had risen and lit numerous candles around the room for light, and wakened the fire in the hearth for warmth, before sitting on the chair beside the bed. She didn't want Snow feeling her nervousness in every shift of her weight on the bed. She realised she was twisting her skirt in her hands and forced herself to flatten her palms against her thighs. Snow remained in bed, still in her nightgown and propped up by a few extra pillows, and somehow that felt more intimidating than if she'd taken great effort to her appearance.

Killian entered the bedroom right behind Graham, who stayed in the room at Snow's nod. Killian stood with his back straight and his head held high, but she could see his nervousness in the tightness of his jaw and the way he held himself. She felt a certain amount of satisfaction that it mattered to him to make a good impression, even as she knew that his appearance would be the furthest concern from her mother's mind.

"Captain Jones," Snow greeted him. It was impossible to tell her thoughts from her tone.

Killian swept a low bow, catching Emma's eye in the process, and she wondered if her reassuring smile was convincing. She suspected that it wasn't. "Your Majesty."

"My daughter has just informed me of everything that's happened in my absence," she said formally. "To hear her tell it, you've become an asset to the throne in the short time that I've been indisposed."

His bowed head wasn't modesty – she knew that he felt uncomfortable with too much favourable attention on him. "I've only done my duty to my kingdom."

"And was marrying my only daughter and heir a part of your duty, Captain?" Snow tilted her head slightly. "Usually when a princess has a suitor, they approach the girl's parents with an offer of marriage."

Frowning at the rebuke, Emma looked between her mother and her husband carefully. Snow knew very well that their marriage had started at her suggestion, for reasons purely to benefit the kingdom. When Killian didn't answer immediately, Snow leaned forward. "I know your reputation, Captain Jones. What possibly makes you think that you can be a suitable husband for my daughter?"

Emma opened her mouth to protest but paused when Killian met her eyes, momentarily overwhelmed by what she saw there. "You'll not find a man who loves her more than I do, Your Majesty."

Snow dropped her head for a moment, and when she raised it Emma didn't miss the glisten in her eyes. "And that's the only thing that matters, as far as I'm concerned," she said with a wavering smile. Emma let go of the worry that she'd been trying to hide. "I'm glad to finally see you back at court, Killian, and to welcome you to the family."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Killian said eventually, his voice thick. It was bittersweet to think that Snow's words had meant so much to him. She thought, then, just how wonderful it would have been to share their happiness with his brother. She knew, with a strange certainty, that Killian and David would have gotten along well.

Snow only waved her hand dismissively. "You'll do your best by my daughter, and we'll do fine. As long as you start calling me by my name." She turned to Emma, and Emma smiled sadly and gratefully at her. "And now I understand that I've been monopolising Emma's time when I'm not the only person who has claim to it any longer."

Emma sighed. "Mother…"

"It's all right, dear," she said quietly. "I think I'd like some time alone."

Her throat tightening with her understanding, she got to her feet immediately, reaching forward to wrap her arms around her mother. "I love you," she said softly, and felt Snow nod against her shoulder. Pressing a kiss to her temple, Emma didn't comment on the tears caught on her lashes, only bid her goodnight and followed Killian and Graham from the room.

Graham hesitated outside the door. "With your permission," he began, but Emma cut him off.

"No," she said simply. His jaw tightened defiantly, but it didn't lessen his red eyes or the dark smudges beneath them. "You can't complain that my mother isn't well guarded." She nodded toward the two guards standing on either side of the door they'd just come through, both people that she knew and trusted. "And you know I'll be fine with Killian. When was the last time you slept?"

"Keeping you safe is my priority –"

"And you can't do that unless you're awake enough to be aware," she said quickly, happily throwing out the argument that he'd used on her many times. "I expect to see you in the morning, Graham. Well rested."

He didn't look pleased, but didn't try to argue the point. That matter dealt with, Emma took Killian's arm and headed back to their rooms. Smiling to herself, she leaned her head against his arm as they walked, not quite believing that she could feel happy like this after everything that had happened. She felt warm, loved, content –

Until she closed the bedroom door behind her, and felt anxiety twist her stomach and then spread through every inch of her. Without looking at Killian, she grabbed the nightgown that lay ready for her on the bed and fled behind the partition in the corner of the room, her cheeks burning, her head swimming.

Closing her eyes, she buried her face in the soft material, willing herself to calm. She felt like a maiden at the cusp of her very first time. She wasn't quite as inexperienced as would have been expected of her, but this felt different. This felt far more significant. She didn't want to rush it.

Taking a deep breath to try and calm herself, she changed quickly into her nightgown and stepped around the partition just in time to see Killian, dressed for bed in only his small clothes as usual, slip under the covers. Blowing out most of the candles, she left one in easy read on her bedside table and followed suite, settling on her side, facing him, but with the usual amount of space between them.

His face was just visible in the soft candlelight, and it held none of the annoyance or impatience that she'd feared she would see, only a small smile and a crinkle of his brow. They laid there in silence, the tension growing thicker between them and Emma's nerves increasing with every moment until she couldn't take it anymore. "Why does this feel so awkward?" she said under her breath. "I feel ridiculous."

Killian's quiet laugh sent relief flooding through her. He opened his arms to her. "Come here," he said softly, and as soon as his arms settled around her she felt more at ease. She rested her cheek against his shoulder and marvelled at the warmth of his bare skin. "There can be a lot of pressure in a moment like this, when it's something one's wanted for such a long time." She felt his lips on her hair and her heart in her throat.

"Does that mean you'll still be here when I wake up in the morning?" she asked, hiding her smile against his chest.

Killian was silent for a few seconds, and when he spoke his voice was thick with emotion. "Emma… Do you know how hard it was for me to wake every morning and not be able to pull you into my arms? Lying here beside you, with your beautiful face the last thing I saw every night as the first thing I saw when I woke, your scent overwhelming me. You infected my dreams almost every night, and I woke up… wanting. I felt I would burst from my skin with how much I wanted you." He moved against her slightly, and she was instantly aware of every place his hard body pressed against hers, and somehow it was too much and not enough all at once. He continued speaking, and she wasn't sure she could take it. "Sometimes when I woke you were in my arms already, and it was all I could do to pull away… I thought it a betrayal of your trust to hold you as if I had any right to, but it was so hard to let you go. It was a torment for me to leave you every morning, but worse to stay and not be able to love you like I love you. I did what I thought you'd want me to do."

Unable to help herself, she pressed her body more firmly against his, lifting her head slightly to press her lips against his jaw. His hand gripped onto her hip, and she felt like his fingers were going to burn her skin through her nightgown. His breathing seemed as uneven as hers did. "We wasted so much time," she whispered.

"But not anymore," he said, his voice almost a growl as he lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her with as much hunger, desperation, _need_ as she felt for him. His previous words swam in her head, reminding her of the want she'd felt when she'd woken alone but with his smell all around her, but that was nothing to how she felt now. She needed him closer, _closer_ , and when there was finally nothing between his skin and hers, his body moving against and within her, their mouths on each other the only thing quietening their moans, she finally knew a completeness that she'd never before even dreamed of.

She woke to a whispered good morning and lips pressed to her neck, warm sunlight on her face and a warm chest against her back. For one quiet moment her world felt peaceful, but even when the weight of her responsibilities, from her mother to her kingdom to Camelot, forced their way into her mind, she knew that at least she wouldn't be facing them alone.


End file.
